


Body of Knowledge

by buttsonthebeach



Series: Hamilton x Dragon Age [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst, Childbirth, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fade Sex, Hand Jobs, Inner Circle Cameos, Intimacy, Minor Jaws of Hakkon Spoilers, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Pregnant Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spoilers, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Very Brief Non-Con Reference in Chapter Seven, Weddings, relationships, solavellan baby - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsonthebeach/pseuds/buttsonthebeach
Summary: “I don’t know where to begin, vhenan,” she said at last, her voice small. “Where do we begin?”Now he stepped closer, their bodies brushing but not touching. He put his hands on either side of her face and held her gently, and even that small touch made her close her eyes.“Look at me,” he said. She opened her eyes and they drifted, as always, to those lips. “Can I begin here?”Even if Solas did change his mind and come back to Lavellan post-Trespasser, how would they reconnect with each other after everything that happened? Theoretically a sequel to another fic, but should stand on its own.Ch. 1-5: Initial reconciliation. Ch. 6-13: How their lives unfold afterwards. (Chapter 12 added on 4/14/17!)





	1. Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact #1: I used to hate writing smut so much that my thesis advisor in college had an entire meeting with me about it, because my novel just didn't make sense without any sex in it at all. This was supposed to be one scene at the end of my Hamilton-inspired fic, ["The World Turned Upside Down"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455849/chapters/19373170), but these two crazy kids made it 5 chapters long. My advisor would be laughing at me if I ever dared to show her this.
> 
> Fun fact #2: All you need to know about the previous fic is that Solas almost goes through with his plan two years after Trespasser, but surrenders to Lavellan instead. Lavellan talks Now a chunk of their Inner Circle is at Lavellan's estate in Kirkwall with them after Solas apologized to all of them (Lavellan’s terms for accepting his surrender). She forgives him too, but is understandably nervous about what this means for their relationship.

Ellana would be lying if she didn't admit she had a habit of staring at Solas’s lips.

  
So much of him was sharp and austere - his cheekbones, his shaved head, his expressions, his clothes. His lips were luxurious by comparison. Soft. Almost obscene. Too beautiful, too beckoning, to be on display for the whole world. They were where he showed so many emotions he otherwise kept private - amusement, fear, frustration. Desire.

  
Many nights in the last four years since Corypheus’s defeat had been spent remembering them. The way they quirked into a smile, the way they moved when he spoke Elvhen, the way they felt on her collarbone, her wrist, her cheek. Her mouth. Her sex.

  
Those memories were shards of colored glass. Sharp fragments too precious to throw away and too jagged to hold close. She didn't summon them on purpose but she didn't run from them.

  
And now?

  
Now she was in her room in her Kirkwall estate and the shadows were long and soft around her and Solas was with her and she couldn’t stop staring at his lips but she couldn’t make her own move. Then he licked his lips and parted them and she remembered his tongue tracing the delicate edge of her ear and his lips against her breast and then his lips on hers just before he said “I will never forget you” and turned away. Her chest tightened in longing and fear.

  
“I do not want you to feel pressured, Ellana,” he said. It was rare to hear her name on his lips. Serious. “I did not follow you here expecting anything from you. I meant what I said - just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.”

  
Now Ellana licked her own lips.

  
“I - I am not silent because I don't want you here. I’m silent because I don't know what I want you here for.”

  
She took a step closer to him, slowly, like she was walking through mud. He reached one hand out to her, palm up. Offering. She rested one hand in his and even though every part of her was screaming for his touch, that was almost too much. How long since she’d held his hand? How long would it be until she got to hold it again? Wait - no - he said he would stay.

  
Said. As he had said so many other things.

  
“I don’t know where to begin, vhenan,” she said at last, her voice small. “Where do we begin?”

  
Now he stepped closer, their bodies brushing but not touching. He put his hands on either side of her face and held her gently, and even that small touch made her close her eyes.

  
“Look at me,” he said. She opened her eyes and they drifted, as always, to those lips. “Can I begin here?”

  
She nodded and he leaned in and kissed her, so soft it almost wasn’t real, just a flutter of his lips against hers. A whimper came from somewhere - probably from her.

  
She needed it to be real.

  
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers again, more firmly now. Still no press of teeth or tongue. Just lips, fitted together at the seam, soft and gentle and longing. His thumbs swept over her cheekbones. One traced the corner of her eye. He drew back and then kissed her again, like each kiss had to be separate. Deliberate. An apology. His fingertips trailed her jaw, then settled on her shoulders. Their bodies still weren’t flush. Her own hand was on his hip, resting more than holding. Ready to pull close or to push away.

  
It still wasn't real enough. It might all still be a dream.

  
She took hold of his hip and pulled him close against her and he groaned and put his arms around her. Now he moved his lips against hers, parting gently and then closing, setting a rhythm that she began to follow. Still not real enough. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he made a little sound that flooded heat into her and then his tongue followed hers. This was real. All of this. Especially those lips against her own, the one place they were joined. Real.  
She kissed him harder now, opened her mouth wider, and his hands dug into her back. She took a step backward, towards her bed, and he followed, never letting their kiss end. Soon those lips would be everywhere she wanted them. The back of her legs hit the bed. This was what she needed. This was what she longed for. This was what she fought for.

  
This is what people died for.

  
And like that she was rigid in his arms.

  
Solas ended the kiss and took a step back, concern crowding his blue eyes, and the loss of him was sudden and complete and terrible.

  
“No,” she said, pulling him to her again. There was heat low in her belly and an ache in her chest and she needed him to cleanse her of both, because he was the cause of both. But when she lay back on the bed she was shaking and he held himself above her.

  
“Be still,” he said softly, and she watched his lips form the words. “Take your time. We have time.”

  
Time.

  
“Please,” she said, tugging on his tunic until he lay down. He stayed off to the side of her rather than on top and rested a hand on her hip. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  
“Emma lath,” he whispered, barely moving back. Then he kissed her cheek. “Ma sa’lath.” Now her nose. “Vhenan’ara.” Now her chin. He closed his eyes. “I will never kiss you enough.”

  
His voice broke enough that she knew what he meant. They had time but not enough. Not enough to make up for every kiss he had missed. Everything he’d done.

  
“Try,” she said. “I want you to try.”

  
He kissed her face and her throat and her hand, but there was only so much lips could do before he needed his hands to undo the buckles and pull back the collar of her shirt and kiss her chest. He helped her out of her shirt completely and her skin prickled at the air and at his gaze as he took her in. He trailed his fingers along her ribs, then bent down and kissed her belly. Then her hip. So close to where she wanted him, but not yet. She was going to burn up. He was going to disappear.

  
“Come back,” she said.

  
He lay at her side again. “I am here. I did not leave, vhenan.”

  
That was it. That was the thing that stuck inside her throat and made everything else impossible. They’d already had their fight about the orb, his plans, his selfishness, his responsibility to more than just the Elvhen. But they hadn’t fought about this. About them. About how he left and took all this with him. Every kiss, every whispered word.

  
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”

  
Ellana tasted the tears before she knew she was crying and then he kissed them, and kissed her, and she used her remaining arm to crush him to her, so tight she couldn’t breathe, until stars danced behind her eyelids and she thought she could die. But she had to breathe, and with her first breath came the choked sound of a sob.

  
Solas didn’t stop kissing her while she cried. Even when she tucked herself against him and all he could reach was the crown of her head and the side of her face he just kept kissing her. His lips made it real - all real. The pain, the joy, the desire. It was all real, and none of it was going anywhere.

  
“I will never be able to earn your forgiveness,” he said when she quieted. “I will never deserve it. Tell me to go now and I will.”

  
She clutched his tunic. “No,” she said against his chest. “Never. Stay.”

  
“Ma nuvenin.”

  
The crying had emptied her - no more endlessly circling thoughts, no more second guessing - and suddenly she was exhausted. She began to drift towards sleep. It was only when a distant roar of laughter woke her that she realized she had fallen asleep at all. Their comrades downstairs, still celebrating their victory. The mingled voices made her smile.

  
“This is not at all what they think we are doing,” she said, knowing somehow that Solas was awake. He chuckled and the sound broke her open again, sweet and fresh and aching.

  
“There’s time enough for that, vhenan. Let us just begin,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen used in this chapter and elsewhere in this fic comes from the ever lovely Project Elvhen!

If Solas didn’t know for a fact he was leaving the Fade, he would have sworn it was a dream to see Ellana lying at his side. He’d constructed many such a dream in the last four years. Her tucked under furs in Skyhold, pressed to him for warmth and life. Her sprawled naked on a bed in summer, already glistening. Her already awake, smiling, happy just to see his face. Her awake and already reaching down to where he was hard.

  
Now, here she was. Her back to him as usual, a gesture of vulnerability and not a barrier. His hand was still on her waist. When they slept together, they rarely awoke still fully embracing one another but they were always touching somehow, even if it was just one ankle tossed lazily on top of another. But then whoever woke up first rekindled the embrace. Solas followed the old habit as if no time had passed - he moved closer to her, fitting his chest to her back and slipping his arm underneath her neck.

  
“This is my favorite part,” she had murmured to him once, years before, awakening to the feel of him embracing her again after rolling away. “The part where we find each other again.”

  
When had she said that?

  
On their journey to Crestwood.

  
He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of her skin to anchor himself in the present. The sheets had slipped off of her and he could see she slept in her smalls and breast band, revealing her brown stomach and all the little red lines dug into it by the folds in the sheets. He ran his fingers along those lines. Dreamer that he was, even he did not think to replicate such little imperfections - the very things that made this true as solid bone. She was really here, and so was he.

  
She sighed but did not stir and he continued to drink in the sight of her. Her face clear, her full lips parted. Her chest rising and falling slowly. No sign of the tears from the night before. He could almost believe that no time had passed. She was not so different now. Of course, the arm closest to him was the one that had held the Anchor. But as he ran one hand along the planes of her body it felt as familiar as his own. Were all the same sweet places still there? He ran his hand down the outside of her thigh, careful not to dip inwards, knowing she had not been ready for this the night before. Still, his groin tightened at the thought. Would she sing for him in just the same way, when she was ready?

  
Her breathing changed as she began to wake. She pressed back towards him before her eyes even opened. This was an old habit, too. Soon her hand would reach back and rest on his flank with a proprietary air. Her arm moved back, but, of course, the hand was not there any longer. His heart twisted. She was as beautiful and fierce and perfect to him as she had ever been. He only hoped she felt the same about herself. He draped his arm over her waist and kissed her cheek.

  
“On dhea,” he said. She murmured back, never one for much talk in the morning. For another moment they just lay there, entwined, and then she cleared her throat and spoke.

  
“Not a dream?”

  
She tried to add a playful note to it but it fell flat. Solas kissed her shoulder.

  
“Yes, my love. It is not a dream.”

  
Ellana sighed then, curling her body inward to stretch, which made her press back against the place where he was half-hard. He didn't hide his small shudder. He didn't need to hide anything anymore.

  
“Is it morning?” She asked. She hadn't opened her eyes yet.

  
“Yes, but it is early.” His hand had dropped to her stomach, where his fingers drew designs as they had before. She was his favorite canvas after all.

  
“Good. I don't want to go down yet.”

  
He flattened his hand against her stomach, soaking in the warmth of her. A thought occurred to him.

  
“We don't have to go down at all,” he said. “There are no plans today. No pressing matters to address. We can stay here as long as we want.”

  
She finally opened her eyes and turned enough to look at him, considering. “I guess you’re right. What a delicious thought.”

  
She angled her chin towards him then and he leaned down to kiss her. Just like the night before, he kissed her with reverence and hunger, knowing he (still) did not deserve this and (still) wanted it more than air or light. At any moment she might finally come to her senses and push him away (even though she never had - well, except when he brought her through the Eluvian to talk, when she told him he was a coward and a fool and said he should just kill her with his bare hands). He drew back before she did, just to make sure she had that opportunity. She just rolled over to face him so she could run her finger along his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the contact and for an instant he closed his eyes, wondering what she was doing. Then he realized, and nothing mattered but that touch from her fingers. Nothing mattered except that she knew who he was - what he almost did - and was still there, counting freckles on his face.

  
Soon her hand made its way down to his shoulders, continuing to count the little marks. Then across his chest, down the line between the muscles, onto his stomach and his navel. He sucked in a swift breath, part laugh and part desire at how close she was getting to the waist of his smalls.

  
“The next time someone refers to you as the Dread Wolf in my presence, I am telling them that you’re ticklish,” she said solemnly, trying and failing to hide the quirk of her lips that betrayed her joke. It stung a little to hear those words (an acknowledgement of the world still turning outside their door).

  
“That’s hardly fair. Everyone is ticklish.”

  
“Exactly,” she said, trailing all five fingers across his stomach now, quick enough that he had to still another laugh.

  
“Enough!” He seized her hand, continuing to feign annoyance (as if he wasn't warm everywhere inside, as if it hadn’t been centuries upon centuries since someone touched him just to make him laugh). She struggled against his grip for a moment, then relaxed.

  
“Do you know what I spent so much time doing the last four years?” She said. “Convincing people that you were just a man. Not Corypheus. Not an archdemon. And every time I did, this is what I remembered.” She pulled her hand gently out of his grasp and ran it along the outside edge of his ear, winning a shiver. “The fact that you shiver at a touch like any other man. The fact that your ribs are ticklish.” She got in one quick tickle before he could swat her away, but before he could protest again her hand had journeyed south suddenly, to cup him through his smalls. “The fact that you wake up hard.”

  
His pulse rushed and he closed his eyes and he leaned forward into the touch, already swelling further. How many times had he dreamed this too? Needed it?

  
“You have always been just a man to me. My man. Ma’len,” she shifted her hand, actually took hold of him. Her voice got quieter. “I missed you so.”

  
Someday, it won't be like this, he thought as her hand dipped below the waistband. Someday he would focus only on how it felt when her thumb swiped over the tip of him, spread the moisture already gathering. She gripped him again and he almost managed to stop thinking it.

  
_I hurt you. I hurt you. I hurt you._

  
“You can breathe, ma haurasha,” she said. “Been that long?”

  
Her hand was moving now, slowly, all the way to the root of his cock and back up. He couldn’t form the words at first. Not when his hips were already rocking into her touch, looking for more friction. More her.

  
“Since you.”

  
He ran a hand up her side then down to her hip, taking hold of her ass. Her hand was moving faster now, twisting on every upstroke, covering and then uncovering the head. His hand slid down, played with the curls between her legs, then pressed against her opening.

  
“Since the last morning in Crestwood,” she said, squirming for more. “You were down - ”

  
“Here?” he said, sliding his fingers between those soft, slick folds until he found the swollen nub.

  
“There,” she said, cupping his balls where they were already drawing tight against him.

  
No more need for words now - just their hands, seeking every sensitive place, stroking and circling and rubbing. He stroked her and teased her and slipped one, two fingers in and out of her. She palmed his head, then gripped his base, then just stroked him without grasping. They were both panting, distracted, unfocused, tormenting each other without meaning to, until at last they found the old rhythm: her hand pumping fast over his length, his fingers rubbing her pearl in quick, firm circles.

  
“Vhenan -” he managed to groan when he got close. Like he could stop. Like he ever wanted her to stop.

  
“Solas-” She said right as her body curled inward at the first wave of her climax, and it was his name that finally made him come, long, wracking pulses, hot against both their bellies. He was just Solas. Just a man. Just hers.

  
He slid a finger into her as she began to relax, just to feel the last fluttering of her walls. He almost regretted letting it be over without getting to be inside her. She hummed and rocked her hips a little and he reminded himself once again that there was time.

  
“I’ve missed those fingers,” she said when he withdrew.

  
“I missed you.”

  
“Now you’ve just made me sound like a lecher.”

  
“In case you couldn’t tell,” he said dryly, glancing down at their stomachs, still slick with his spend. “I missed your fingers too.”

  
“Good thing there’s a bath,” she said. “But it’ll take a little while to fill and warm - and we’d have to go downstairs -”

  
Solas focused for a moment, reaching for a tendril of mana. He’d seen the bathtub when they entered the night before and it took only a moment to direct the magic towards it and fill it with warm water. Ellana’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help but smirk.

  
“You’re still ticklish, Fen’Harel,” she muttered as she rose.

  
Someday it wouldn’t fill him with a strange twinge to hear her say that name. He followed her to the bathtub, enjoying the swell of her ass and her strong legs (and, of course, the faint sheen of moisture on the inside of them) as she walked.

  
“Let me,” he said when they reached the tub. He climbed in before her then gestured for her to join him. She climbed in slowly - she had to be careful with one hand. Someday that wouldn't hurt either.

  
She settled between his legs, her back against his chest, and he took one of the rags by the tub and began to wash her, long slow sweeps. Like he could clean the last four years away - better yet, clean everything away, leave them both blank and new. She hummed at every stroke. When he was done, she took his hand, and he settled the other on her hip.

  
“I’ll never touch you with both hands again,” she said quietly.

  
He kissed the place where her shoulder and neck met, and for the first time reached up and squeezed her left arm.

  
“You are so beautiful,” he said. “Whole and perfect and lovely as dawn. I will never regret saving your life. The world is better with you in it.”

  
She pressed herself back against him, leaning her head back. “It was - hard at first. I was angry. I was a hunter for so long. It was my identity before the Inquisition. And after working so hard and fighting so much, I was suddenly useless. If I had been a mage I could have been useful. If I was good with daggers like Cole I might have been useful. Hell, Bull even told stories about one armed Qunari warriors. But there I was. The useless one-armed archer.”

  
“You have been many things, but useless never was and never will be one of them. How many times did your mind help you outwit my forces? And is it not your compassion that saved so many?” He turned so his face was against her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “Including me?”

  
She leaned her head against his. “Sweet talker.”

  
“You are so much more than your physical form, emma lath. It was your spirit I loved first - not your body.”

  
That said, her closeness and the warm water were already having more of an effect on him than they should have. She wasted no time noticing this, wriggling her hips back and forth slowly, feigning innocence in the gesture.

  
“Oh really?” She asked, smiling.

  
“Well. I never said your body didn’t help,” he said. “Besides - did you really think we were done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Tongues

Apparently, Solas’s idea of ‘not done yet’ included lounging in the bathtub for quite a while.

  
Not that Ellana could really say she minded. Feeling so much skin against hers was an unbelievable luxury. She hadn't fully been able to recreate the feeling in her mind over the last four years - the way it instantly made every muscle relax, the safety it provided, the sense of connection. And he held her so close to himself, like even an inch of space would be unbearable. He kissed her ear and massaged her legs and whispered in Elvhen, and she could feel the rhythm of the words and the rumble in his chest at the same time.

  
_You are beloved beyond measure. Precious. Mine._

  
And just as she felt so lulled she might fall asleep again, he slowly licked a drop of moisture from her neck with just the tip of his tongue.

  
And just like that she could feel herself start to ache again.

  
She whimpered before she caught herself.

  
“You’ll be ready again soon,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the temperature of the water. “You’re always so sensitive after you come from my fingers.”

  
His voice vibrated through her body again. He could read an Inquisition manifest in that deep, smooth voice, with that faint accent, and she’d probably be dripping wet by the end. Of course, he knew that. Just like he knew it made her knees weak when he traced the tip of her ear with his tongue, as he did now.

  
“What do you think, ma haurasha? Back to bed?”

  
So smug. So very, very smug. She’d missed that smug voice though, damn him. Missed it like she’d missed those lips and those hands and his skin on hers.

  
No reason for him to know that.

  
She shrugged. “If you wish, I suppose.”

  
“Oh?” He said, leaning back against the tub and taking his arms away from her for the first time. “It is later now. I’d imagine some of our friends are awake and regretting their decisions from last night. We could always join them.”

  
Well, then. She was positively thrumming with desire now, trying her hardest not to grin and giggle. He was here, and naked, and playing along with her as if no time had passed.

  
She rose out of the tub, slowly, knowing he would enjoy the view. Then she dried carefully, glancing at him only once.

  
“Are you going to waste away in the tub pining for me?”

  
He smirked (damn him, she loved that too). “On the contrary. I imagine it is you who would not be able to contain herself if we went downstairs without me satisfying you. You have a history of impatience in these matters.”

  
“Oh?” She asked, letting the towel fall, tracing a finger down her stomach until it reached the place where she was (in fact) entirely too ready to be satisfied. “Who says I need you to be satisfied?”

  
Fenedhis, even the tiny circle she drew around her nub was too much for her to suppress a shiver. It was the look in his eyes. The way they had narrowed.

  
Not so smug now.

  
He rose out of the tub in one fluid motion - and he’d called her graceful - and was standing before her in two long steps (not quite long enough to truly appreciate the sight of his cock - already hard and flushed dark with desire). She quickened the circles she was making, still not quite touching her pearl, just letting it swell further. She bit her lip and sighed, and then she was suddenly horizontal - he’d picked her up.

  
“You’ve had too much time for that,” he said.

  
Two more long strides and they were at the bed, and he laid her there, already hungrily kissing her collarbones and the place between her breasts. She dared to reach for herself one more time and he seized her wrist and pressed it to the bed.

  
“What was your favorite memory of us?” He asked, his voice gruff and low, his lips already near her belly. “The one your dreams played for you again and again? The one you conjured when you touched yourself?”

  
There was a raw edge to his voice, and distantly she wondered if she would question it, but her blood was rushing again, and secretly she liked it when he was raw. Honest. Vulnerable. She wanted to see how much more she could make him open up.

  
“What makes you think I touched myself and thought of you?”

  
He made a sound that might have been a groan or a growl or both. The hand on her wrist tightened a little.

  
“Because that was how I got through many a long night without you. I remembered a night in Skyhold when we stayed in the rotunda until everyone was gone and you sat in my chair and I had you just like this and licked you until you screamed. And to think you didn't like this before I showed you how good it could be.”

  
He was still kissing around her navel. She felt his posture shift, and when she looked down, she could see that he was stroking himself with his other hand, slow and practiced. She was so wet now she could feel it drip out, so wet she had to rub her legs together.

  
“This? What do you mean by ‘this?’ Because this is just an awful lot of teasing right now.”

  
He sat up, took hold of her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She realized, belatedly, that he’d laid her down across the bed, not up and down. Then he knelt between her legs and, still holding her hips so tight she was sure she would bruise, he gave her one long, hard lick from the bottom of her slit to the place where she burned.

  
The sharpness of her cry startled her as the flash of pleasure jolted through her, made the muscles deep inside her clench. It startled him, too. He let go of her hips.

  
“Vhenan,” his voice was soft now. “Ir abelas. That was too rough.”

  
“Tel’abelas. It felt good. I like seeing you lose control a little. I like knowing I have that effect on you.”

  
He kissed her knee, then leaned forward and kissed her hip. “I don’t like thinking of you alone and longing for me. But at the same time there is a part of me - a dark part of me, the wrong part of me - that enjoys knowing you longed for me. I always hoped that you did when we were apart. I didn’t want there to be anyone else in your bed. It is wrong and selfish and childish. I should have wished you joy. Companionship.”

  
She was still throbbing, the air cold against her now here his tongue had been, but the sadness in his eyes threatened to undo that. She ran her hand over his head, soothing.

  
“You can’t change the past. You left me longing, Solas. That will always be true. But sometimes - even before you removed my vallaslin - sometimes you left me longing for you just because you were in another room.” She tilted his head back up as best as she could. His eyes met hers. “Bring me joy and companionship now.”

  
He touched her cheek, running his thumb over the place where part of her vallaslin had been, like he’d memorized her both ways.

  
“Bellanaris,” he said.

  
Forever. The word hummed inside Ellana as he kissed her stomach and her legs and her knees and her ankles but soon she began to feel achy and impatient again. She wanted that fire back that she had roused in him earlier. She wanted to keep playing their game. It wasn’t until she caught sight of the look in his eyes when he flicked his tongue over her ankle that she realized he’d started again.

  
“You still want to know what I thought of, don’t you?” She said. He shrugged.

  
“Perhaps you thought of nothing at all.” But when he set down her ankle, it was over his shoulder.

  
“Sometimes I just imagined flashes of things. Sensations. Images. Like the warmth of your hand on my breast or your eyes shut tight. The sounds you make when you get close.”

  
He was kissing along her other leg now, settling it over his shoulder too. His breath was almost where she wanted it.

  
“But mostly I liked to think about the time we lay together in the archives at Skyhold.”

  
His nose was pressed against her curls now - all the better to feel his sudden, amused groan.

  
“Truly?” He said.

  
“Judging me?” She said, trying to hide the desperate note in her voice.

  
“Judging myself.”

  
“What? For the way you fumbled with my breast band? The spilled wine? The way you came in me without meaning to?”

  
Tongue met folds, slipped past them, and her world was white for an instant. She was rocking against him, feeling the tongue slide in and out, in and out, keening. He’d barely been inside her when he used his hands before their bath. She could already feel the muscles tightening, longing for more, for something firmer. He pulled back and looked at her, expectant.

  
“I - I liked it best because it felt like the first real time. The first time we were together the nightmare was still with me and I was afraid you would pull away forever, and it meant so much it hurt.” That won her several small brushes of his tongue against her nub, the kind that were so good they hurt. “But in the archives, after we talked, you were free - confident - you laid me back on the table and you stroked me and stroked me - ” More pressure from his tongue now but still not enough, and still just back and forth, no maddening circles. She was silent for a moment as she angled her hips. More more more more.

  
“How did I stroke you?” He was breathless, too. She could see from the movement of one of his shoulders that he was touching himself again and another surge of pleasure tightened her cunt, even though she couldn’t see him.

  
“Don’t finish,” she said. “Let me.”

  
His shoulder slowed and then stilled, and then he gave her another long, firm lick, slit to nub. “How did I stroke you?”

  
“With you. Your cock - your - ”

  
Her words garbled. He was tonguing her opening, fluttering harder and harder, then returning to her center. He sucked her once and the world was white again.

  
“You rubbed me with your fingers and then you used your cock instead and then you were finally inside me and I could watch your whole body because you were standing and you were so beautiful and I could see you moving in and out of me - ”

  
He groaned into her, fit his hands under her ass and spread her so he could lick her everywhere, everywhere. She felt the familiar rush of his magic all over her skin as he cooled her and then warmed her and that was almost enough but he pulled back just a little. She grabbed hold of his head and held him down where he was and said:

  
“And you came so hard you couldn’t stop yourself and I came too - fuck, make me come now - ”

  
His lips closed around her throbbing womanhood and sucked and she was coming, spasming, crushing his head to her as he kept sucking, kept licking, drawing out every last shudder, until she was too limp to hold onto him anymore.  
She was never going to move again.

  
As she lay there, thinking that, she was dimly aware that he was moving. She whined at the loss of contact and opened her eyes to see that he was on hands and knees above her.

  
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re so good.”

  
She tried to ask him what he meant but it just came out as a noise. She could still feel herself twitching and spasming. He laughed, said something in Elvhen she couldn’t even be bothered to attempt understanding. Affectionate and warm and funny. She wanted to take hold of his hips and guide him into her then. Wanted to feel him move in her as he had that day and see him lose himself. But - there was a finality to that. An intimacy that somewhere she was still dimly afraid could shatter what they were building. This peace. This understanding.

  
“It felt so different at first, with the Veil in place,” he said. “That’s why I lost control of myself.”

  
She laughed. “Lost control? You came inside me. _After_  we had been going at it for a while. Not exactly the same thing.”

  
“Well, it was inconsiderate of me. And it was so - intimate. More intimate than I was prepared for.”

  
There was a weight to his words. Maybe he’d sensed the train of her thoughts. She was glad - it meant she could follow through on the idea brewing in her brain.

  
“Your turn,” she said.

  
“Can you even sit up?”

  
There was that smugness again.

  
“Are you so confident in your abilities?”

  
“I am confident in the results I can see. And smell. And taste.” He kissed her and sure enough her taste was all over him - musky and salty and just a little bitter.

  
“Well, good thing what I have in mind doesn't require much movement,” she said as she began to move down the bed, towards where he’d knelt. As she drew level with his hips she leaned up and licked his cock where it hung heavy with desire above her. He groaned and flexed his hips downward and she knew as she slid off the bed that she had won.

  
He lay back obediently and positioned himself with his hips just at the edge of the bed, reclining on his elbows. She knew him well enough to see the carefully guarded expectation on his face. He never asked for pleasure for his own sake - something about control, and something about having power over others that bothered him - but she knew he craved it. Longed to let go and feel safe and loved and wanted. And she loved giving it to him.

  
“Lie back,” she said, running her hand up and down his stomach until he did. Then she began her worship of him, kissing his thighs and his knees and his hips until she could see the moisture drip off the head of his cock onto his stomach.

  
“Well?” she said.

  
“Well what?” He asked, not bothering to hide his desire. It made her shiver.

  
“Where is your story?” She pursed her lips and blew lightly over the length of him, watching him twitch.

  
“I already told you mine,” he said. He reached down and trailed his hands across the fine, short hairs on the sides of her head.

  
“You have only one favorite? I must be a dull lover.”

  
He huffed and she knew she needed to break him down further. So she ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his cock, tracing the familiar vein up to the single freckle on the side of it. She kissed it and breathed in the most intimate scent of him - sweat and salt and skin. He drew his breath in sharply.

  
“After Adamant,” he said. She couldn’t deny she stilled at the name. But she still reached up and took him gently in her hand and closed her mouth over his head. His groan, so earnest and desperate, was almost all she needed to start sucking him off. But this was part of the game - part of the release.

  
“Yes?” She said, letting him slide out, licking the slit on the top for good measure.

  
“That night. Staying there. I wanted you so badly I didn't bother hiding that I was going to your quarters. I still don't know if anyone noticed, actually.”

  
She took him in her mouth again, squeezed his base with her hand, swirled her tongue around the top, enjoying the salty stickiness. He bucked a little at each swirl of his tongue but then she eased back, started licking him up and down.

  
“I half expected you to pounce on me. Ride me hard to banish your fear. You were never hesitant about taking what you wanted. I thought it was what I wanted, too. A quick hard fuck to forget what we saw and heard.”

  
Was that really a twinge between her legs? That curse word. So elegantly spoken. It really wasn't fair. She cupped his sack and massaged, sinking him deeper into her mouth. She could hear him claw the sheets.

  
“But you took me by the hand and undressed me. You were shaking, but you held me. Me. After everything that happened you were holding me, trying to soothe me.”

  
She started to move now, hollowing out her cheeks on each upstroke, reveling in how his skin was velvet soft but his cock was so hard. He started to rock upward so she gripped him by the base again. This needed to last. She needed to taste every inch of him. She needed him to shatter. She needed to unmake and remake him.

  
“You pulled me down onto the bed and I laid down on top of you. You were so warm and perfect and beautiful, ma’lath, and so afraid. And even when I slipped my fingers inside you and hit that sweet spot again and again - when you were so close to coming apart -”

  
She was sucking him in earnest now, drawing him in and out of her mouth, laving him with her tongue, feeling him get harder and harder, and suddenly he was speaking Elvhen, so fast and choked she couldn’t translate it, but she knew this memory. She remembered lying there in that castle, trying to block out the sounds of the dying men in the field hospital nearby, him fucking her with his hands, and suddenly realizing she didn't want that kind of release. She needed him. She’d pulled his hand out of her and pulled him on top of her - but she didn’t want to be lost in memory - she wanted to focus on the way his balls were drawing up tight, on the way he was dripping with want, the way he was throbbing -

  
She let go of the base of his cock and he was holding her head in instants, guiding her pace, taking his pleasure of her. She reached up and pressed a knuckle into the place behind his sack. Then the long lyrical stream of Elvhen broke and he was speaking Common again.

  
“And then I was in your wet perfect cunt and for the first time I wasn’t afraid of dying alone - Fenedhis, vhenan, I’m coming - ”

  
He went still at the exact moment his cock shuddered into her mouth, long hard pulses that mirrored the cry he made, high and strained and breaking in the middle. She swallowed his come down, cringed at the taste but it was okay because it was him, him, _him_.

  
When he was twitching weakly she massaged his sack and he groaned again and hardened, let go of one last little tremor. Then he was boneless against her, whispering endearments.

  
“Ma’asha,” he said at last, reaching for her chin. My woman. Her heart seized. He had never called her that before. It had connotations that she thought he feared. Of possession. Of a public connection, a true romantic involvement.

  
She moved up the bed and laid down beside him. He gathered her to his chest and held her there, caressing her hair and shoulders.

  
“I wanted to tell you then. That night. A thousand times,” he said. “I took you to Crestwood to tell you.”

  
She tensed a little, stilling herself the way she would when she sensed a predator in the woods. But the taste of him was still on her tongue and she could feel his cock softening on her thigh and she knew this too was part of the release. The rebuilding.

  
“I was a coward. A selfish coward. I feared losing you, and not just because I feared dying alone. I feared losing you because losing you would mean I had nothing. When I pushed you away, it was because I realized my selfishness. I was keeping you for myself, and I was pushing away my mission for the sake of my own happiness. I truly thought I was doing what was right, by giving you up.”

  
Ellana nuzzled into his chest, like she could get closer to him.

  
“It is not selfish to want happiness for yourself, my love. Especially when your happiness is mine.”

  
His grip on her hip tightened. “It is when you have the kind of power and knowledge I do. The ability to rewrite history, to undo past wrongs, to carve a place of freedom and hope…”

  
His wistfulness twisted up everything inside her into a knot. Would he ever be satisfied?

  
“But even that kind of power doesn't guarantee justice or happiness. Even as my power as Inquisitor did not. You tried to stop the Evanuris and destroyed Elvhenan in the process. If you had been successful in tearing down the Veil - who knows if you would actually have had the effect you desired?”

  
He released his grip on her hip, rubbed the small of her back slowly. She was tired, so tired, so afraid of these words and what they could mean. A renegotiation. Waking up to him gone again.

  
“We will find justice and happiness together, vhenan. And not through power alone.”

  
He kissed the top of her head, then began to move so he was lying on the bed lengthwise again. She joined him, letting the contentment sink into her bones again. No matter what, he was here. He was holding her, massaging her back. Kissing her head again.

  
“It is still morning, yet I find myself pulled to the Fade once more,” he said. “Join me there?”

  
“That’s on you, dreamer,” she sighed, letting thoughts of what they’d said slip away. “Find me.”

  
“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I didn't realize how much I was used to mentioning hair until I was writing about one character who's bald and another character who has very very very short hair. That's part of what inspired some of the silliness in this chapter.
> 
> I agonized over this chapter for a couple weeks now, and I think it's just time to let it go. Enjoy my strange take on what the Fade is like for Solas (and one potential interpretation of what sex can be like within it).
> 
> Thank you SO much to everyone who has left kudos - you guys make my day!

Solas’s dream started in Skyhold as he remembered it, when it belonged to him. But the stone columns disappeared as he instinctively sought her where he knew she would be - in the forest he created for her, an idealization of the woods in the Free Marches that she loved so. Sure enough, she was standing there, cloaked and still, gazing skyward.

  
Ellana told him the dreams were cruel when they finally saw each other face to face again. The truth was, his presence in them was often as instinctual as it just had been. The Fade was shaped by intent, and part of his will was always bent towards her, like a compass seeking north.

  
“Do you like this forest?” He asked, running his hands up and down her arms. She leaned back a little into his touch.

  
“Yes,” she said. “Did you make it? I thought it was too detailed to be my own mind.”

  
“Yes. You deserved a sanctuary in the Fade, after all your nightmares.”

  
“And you wanted to know where to find me,” she said, neutrally.

  
“I would have found you no matter what, if I needed to. Your spirit sings to me, here and in waking.”

  
“Did the Anchor help?”

  
She was leaning fully against him now, watching a distant herd of halla through the trees. As always in the Fade, the physical feeling of it was muted, like holding something in thick winter gloves, but her energy and emotion were so much more tangible. Her love for him was a low, constant hum, deep and warm. He kissed her cheek and it rose higher, brighter, like a plucked string. But there were other feelings here, too. Sadness. Fear. Uncertainty. An acrid, bitter mixture, a smoky smell, tangling with that love. The forest around them was dim, and many of the flowers that bloomed for her in happier times were closed.

  
“Yes, the Anchor did help. It was my magic, as familiar to me as my hand. Even now, I can still feel it in you.” He reached out to it in his mind and she gasped at the familiar burn of it under her skin, subdued but no less present. “But even without it, I would know your spirit. That is part of any deep connection between two people.”

  
There was a little more light in the forest now. Wisps were drifting closer to them now.

  
“There were days - and nights, sitting here - when I wondered if that was the only reason you loved me at all. If it was some weird magic thing I couldn't understand. If that was why you could stand to leave me once the Anchor was gone.”

  
Solas’s own anger and pain gathered now, like a nearby storm - the chemical smell of rain and lightning replaced the bitter one from before - it was the crackle of his power, so natural to him here. He willed it away, knowing it was a dangerous lure for demons.

  
“The truth, my love, is that I feared the same at first. It is why I asked you if the Anchor changed you. In the many lifetimes I lived before the Veil, I did not meet anyone who fit me the way you did. To find you after my greatest mistake? It didn’t seem possible. I tried to tell myself it was some byproduct of the Anchor, but in time I could not deny that it was just you. Ellana Lavellan.”

  
Her love roared loud then - light streamed through the trees and the flowers bloomed. She turned to him at last and smiled.

  
“Take me somewhere else. I don’t have happy memories here.”

  
“Ir abelas. That is not what I wanted for this place. What would you see?”

  
She stood there, considering for a moment, then ran her hand over his head. “Show me you with hair.”

  
Surprise always made the air vibrate in the Fade and Solas could feel it straight through his chest as he laughed. “What?”

  
“A memory where you have hair. You haven't _always_  been bald, have you? I always wanted to ask before but you never seemed comfortable talking about your past. What could you possibly be hiding now?” She leaned a little closer, trailing her hand down the back of his neck. “Unless, of course, you had terrible hair, and that's why you shave it.”

  
“Vhenan,” he said as he began to reshape the dream, searching for a good memory to show her. “My hair was the subject of many a lover’s sighs.”

  
“Many a lover?” Ellana laughed, a sound that made the whole memory warmer as it shaped, that made the wisps dance even nearer to them. “Maybe I _don't_  want to see this memory.” But there was no sour tang of jealousy in the words.

  
They were in a field fragrant with elfroot on the slopes of the Frostback Mountains in early spring. Solas immediately began clarifying details - sharpening the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, making sure each breath of wind that came off the mountains carried with it the taste of snow. In the distance he traced the familiar shape of a distant city, all intricate stone spires and glimmering illusions. And, of course, there was him - sitting on the ground in deep blue traveler’s clothes that would have been considered simple then but were quite fine but the standards of the current age. Ellana gasped as she took in the details. He’d oriented the memory specifically so that they were standing behind him, the better for her to see it: the long, thick intricately braided ropes of brown hair draped down his back and over his shoulders, bound by metal bands.

  
“Is that really you?” Ellana said, breaking away from him so she could see his past self from the front.

  
In this memory he was making a sketch of the area and taking notes on various spirits he’d found there, so she had to crouch down to see his face. Solas remained where he was, and for the first time was able to really see her as she gazed at him. It was a strange sensation to stand apart from himself and observe the gentle wonder in her smile, the tenderness in her eyes as she studied him. What incredible, unearned, unasked for grace to have another soul look at him that way.

  
And then she started laughing, so hard she ended up sitting down.

  
“I am afraid to ask what exactly it is you find so funny,” he said when she seemed to calm.

  
“You just look - so - _wrong_.”

  
He couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. “I was quite proud of it, you know.”

  
“You don’t look bad, love. I just can't believe it's you. I love you the way you are now.”

  
And then he could not help but think of the day he shaved the hair. The day Mythal died. She loved the way he was after he was broken.

  
“What is it?” she asked, noticing the darkening sky above them. She did not feel the Fade the same way he did, but it was an obvious enough sign even for her.

  
“I will tell you when we wake - I fear it is too powerful a memory to speak of here. I wonder, instead, if there is a way I could see you with hair.”

  
“I have hair, thank you very much.”

  
“But you have not always kept it shaved so close, I am sure.”

  
“When I was a little girl I think my mother used to let it grow a little, but it got difficult to manage quickly. Maybe I can - ”

  
She furrowed her brow and Solas felt the Fade shift around them, and in a blink, her face was surrounded by dense, tiny red ringlets, sticking out from her head at every angle in a cloud, a halo, a crown. One of his favorite things about her was the stark masculinity of her hair contrasted with the absolute femininity of her cheekbones and dark lashes and soft red lips - even with her slight, muscled form and short hair, no one would mistake her for a man. But now? He wasn't sure he had words for her loveliness.

  
Thankfully, there were other ways to express feeling in the Fade, and he reached out towards her with magic, flooding her with the sense of his awe, the scent of pine and frost and charcoal and everything he considered home. She whimpered (he must have been more forceful than he thought), stepping closer to him.

  
“Emma lath - I wish I could respond the same way.”

  
“Try. Don't talk through the feelings - feel them, visualize them, and send them to me.”

  
It wasn’t likely to work - but maybe, with the lingering power of the Anchor, with the force of her feelings, with his sensitivity - then he could faintly hear the sound of softly spoken Elvhen, children's voices, and sense the smell of woodsmoke and halla. It was innocence and comfort. Her home.

  
“Well done,” he said.

  
“It worked?” She said, incredulous, as he walked towards her. He reached up and touched her hair, focusing hard on the physical sensation. So soft, so fine, like the candy floss they served in Val Royeaux. She hummed.

  
“I know your rule about Fade sex,” she said. “But perhaps just this time? You can change so you have hair, too.”

  
He leaned down and kissed her, gently. “I have broken many rules for you, ma sa’lath, but I am afraid that one is not negotiable.”

  
She went still for a moment, and then he felt warmth all over him, like fingers, tugging and pushing, inelegant but insistent.

  
“Vhenan,” he cautioned. “Don’t make me regret trying to teach you.”

  
But she was hanging on his neck, looking up at him, her beautiful hair all around her face, and already this part of the Fade felt warm, and he was responding before he really meant to, instinctively holding her close and using his magic to caress every inch of her, mapping familiar routes. He thrilled at the feeling of her stumbling attempts to mimic him, at the way the world around them smelled like cinnamon and fire and summer fields now, at the sound of breath catching in her throat repeated a thousand fold, a refraction of memory upon memory of their bodies entwined. They were in the field, then in his quarters in Skyhold, then in a room he once owned in Arlathan, then in a room in the Winter Palace. Everything around them was warm and wet and pulsing. He was dimly aware that her hands were all over him, clutching his shoulders and hips and groin and ears and her mouth was on his too - another mixture of shared memories that made him groan. He was inside her, throbbing, and then his mouth was between her legs, and then it was her hand on his cock, and his stomach was tight and his balls were heavy with want and her fingernails were digging into his scalp - and in the background of it all was the deep pulse of their love, steadily increasing in pitch, building toward a soft, shuddering release that flooded his vision with light and sounded like a long exhale.

  
Solas let himself bask in it for a moment (for a thousand moments, as he recalled the many other times he’d lain sated at her side, kissed her skin, listened to her murmured words of love) before quickly summoning a new vision for them to inhabit - Haven. He surveyed the area and saw nothing out of the ordinary - there were more spirits here than where they’d been before, given the intensity of what happened there, but they weren't paying them any special attention. Their brief and gentle joining did not seem to have attracted any untoward attention. Ellana looked around, bleary, her pupils still wide with arousal.

  
“Was that - are we in Haven?”

  
“Yes. Shall we take a walk, as we used to?”

  
“So that was what sex is like the Fade?” she asked, seemingly ignoring him. She was disoriented, totally unused to what happened, and he put his hand on the small of her back.

  
“It is one of the ways, yes. Remember, the Fade responds to intent.”

  
“And nothing bad happened? We ARE in Haven.” Her head was clearing - good.

  
“It would appear not, no. Did you enjoy yourself?”

  
“It was - I don’t think I have the words.”

  
She started walking away from him then, along the path that led towards the apothecary, where he used to stand and stare up at the Breach. He followed, unsure what to make of the shift in her mood. Her mind often followed desultory paths, at least as far as he could tell - she saw connections in places that he found unusual. Something about the intensity of their connection - and then the place he brought her - had sparked this melancholy in her.

  
“This is what it was like, isn’t it? This is what I am asking you to give up.” She didn’t turn towards him when they reached the stairs that led to his familiar haunt. The breeze that had been stirring up eddies of snow stilled. “There was a world where this was normal, and I’m asking you not to bring that world back.”

  
Solas caught up to her but still stood a careful distance apart. A spirit of Grief hovered near them, in the apothecary shop itself. She’d never forgiven herself for not getting to them in time when Haven fell. “You are not asking me to do anything. I surrendered to your forces of my own free will.”

  
“I know. But the way we’re going to go about it now - trying to see if we can only remove part of the Veil, or weaken it, or just find a safe home for the People even if it means no magic or immortality - none of those options may work. And if they don’t - ” She exhaled. “Solas, I’m not a mage. I can’t truly share in the Fade with you - I may not even remember half of this when we wake up. I won’t live forever. You said yourself the Anchor is still killing me. We grew up in two different worlds. Am I enough?”

  
He turned her around and crushed her to his chest and held her there, as much for himself as for her. The spirit of Grief started to come closer, drawn by the strength of the feelings brewing in him.

  
“I would share a thousand lifetimes with you, but if I only get one - ” He couldn’t hide the break in his voice at that thought. Another spirit of Grief was nearby now. “I will treasure every moment of it. As to the Fade - we stood here years ago and fell in love with each other’s minds. That will always be one of the things I treasure most about you, and that is all I need to enjoy it with you. Your curiosity, your insight. The sound of your laugh at the sight of me with hair.”

  
She laughed quietly into his chest. “It was pretty funny.”

 

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, noticing that now her hair was back to its usual short cut. It was likely too much effort for her to imagine herself with long hair in the face of the emotions she felt. “I wouldn’t mind seeing yours long again.”

  
“Maybe I could grow it out for real. I mean, wherever we’re going, there shouldn’t be too much fighting anymore - right?”

  
Another question they couldn't answer. Another thing he wanted to leave for now.

  
“Come,” he said. “Let us go out to the woods. Maybe we will catch a memory of you sleeping there instead of in your cabin, as you used to.”

  
“So you think you deserve the chance to laugh at me, too?” She snorted, taking his hand.

  
He squeezed her hand as they started walking. There was time enough when they woke to talk about all the things he felt brewing in him now, making the air hum. For now, he wanted only to enjoy the magic on his skin and her hand in his. “Turnabout is only fair play, vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Elvhen in this chapter comes from Project Elvhen here on AO3!

Ellana awoke with a hazy impression that she’d been laughing about something, although she couldn’t quite be sure. Something about druffalo. Or nugs. Or trees? They’d been in Haven, but her memory distorted after their - joining? - in the Fade. It wasn’t what she had expected, but it left her with a pool of heat in her stomach and limp muscles. She opened her eyes and saw that it was lighter in the bedroom now - midmorning at least. She rolled over to find Solas, but the bed beside her was empty.

  
Panic bloomed in her chest. She scanned around the room and didn’t see him. His clothes weren’t on the floor, either.

  
“Solas?” She called, her voice soft and tentative. No answer.

  
Shit.

  
Maybe all of it had been a dream. Maybe he hadn’t come up to her room after dinner. Or maybe he had, and after the things she said in the Fade - about not being enough, about where they would go from here - had scared him off. Maybe he was gone again. She’d have to go downstairs and ask the others if they’d seen him. Creators, this was some nightmare. He wouldn’t do this again. Would he?

  
She stood and quickly found her breeches and a tunic. Fenedhis, it felt like it took forever to get dressed one-handed. Her heart was in her throat. She should’ve known. There was no happiness at the end of this road. It was all a dream, a fantasy. Even if it happened in the real world. She felt tears in her eyes and bit them back. Shit. She was not this weak. She could go downstairs and be calm and rational about this. If he was gone, that was that.

  
She opened the door to the hall and strode out without looking, immediately hitting something solid and warm that knocked her backwards.

  
“Careful!”

  
She caught her balance and looked up for the source of the voice. It was Solas - standing there, bewildered, with a tray held in the air above her head. No doubt to preserve it from her single-minded charge.

  
“You’re here,” she said as he walked past her into the bedroom.

  
“Where else would I be?” He asked, setting the tray down on her bedside table. He sounded genuinely confused. “And where were you going in such a rush?”

  
“I - I thought you left again.”

  
The slump in his shoulders broke Ellana’s heart more surely than anything he could have said.

  
“Ir abelas, vhenan. I woke before you and thought you might appreciate something to eat - it is midday, after all. I should have woken you or left a note.”

  
“No - I should not have panicked so easily.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. After all their progress, all the intimacy they’d been building. The scant four feet between them might as well have been the abyss at Adamant now. Then her stomach growled audibly. He chuckled.

  
“Sit. You will feel better after you have eaten.”

  
Solas stepped aside so that she could approach the bed, since he’d set the tray down on the side that was usually hers. It was such a formal gesture that sitting the bed then felt awkward, but she had nowhere else to eat. She felt a little better nibbling on her bread and fruit when he sat on the bed beside her, although he did not touch her.

  
“Did you see anyone else when you went down?” She asked.

  
“I heard Varric and Thom talking in the dining room, but I avoided them. I was rather enjoying the sense that there was no one but you and I in the world right now. I didn’t want the illusion spoiled.”

  
Ellana sighed. “Solas - ”

  
“Ellana, where on earth are you?”

  
Dorian’s disembodied voice shocked her enough that she nearly dropped the plate. Even Solas sat bolt upright. In the moment they both froze, he spoke again.

  
“Ellana? Are you there?”

  
“Andraste’s tits,” Ellana muttered, leaning over to snatch up the crystal from where she’d left it on her beside table, forgotten. “Yes, Dorian, I am here. What is it?”

  
“So testy. Don’t you know I have a terrible headache? No one has seen you all day and I got worried. We are all supposed to leave today, you know. Where are you hiding?”

  
“I’m in my room, you idiot.” Solas snorted at her words, relaxing a little on the bed again.

  
“No need for name calling! Is there some particular reason you’re hiding away up there instead of joining us for lunch?”

  
Ellana felt heat rising in her cheeks. She glanced at Solas, but his face was carefully neutral. He’d avoided the others when he went downstairs and said he enjoyed the feeling that they were the only two in the world. There was no question of them going down, not with this new wound she’d managed to open. But what should she say?

  
“Solas and I are - talking,” she finally said.

  
Dimly through the crystal she heard laughter that was distinctly _not_  Dorian’s. He huffed. “Told you,” he said, although she got the impression it wasn’t to her. “Well then, darling, we’ll leave you two to - talk. Just don’t forget to eat in-between all that - _talking_.” More laughter at that, a giggle that was distinctly Sera’s (and she would have sworn she heard someone shout ‘Elvhen glory!’).

  
“Goodbye, Dorian,” she said, with more force than was probably necessary. The crystal went dim.

  
“That man is insufferable,” Solas said as she resumed eating.

  
“That man is my best friend. Only I get to call him insufferable,” she retorted. “I don’t know what I would have done without him over the last two years.”

  
Solas had no reply for that.

  
There was no sound now except for the scrape of the bread on the plate as she sopped up the last of the preserves. When she was done, she put the plate back on the bedside table and sighed again. The sheets were still twisted, dented by the places they’d slept. The room still smelled like sex. If there was any time to do this, it was now.

  
“Solas - there is a world outside this door,” she said at last. “I want to wish it away, too. But I can’t. So - when we do leave this room - what happens?”

  
Ellana had watched Solas face down demons, walk the Fade, turn warriors to stone, and lead armies. But she’d never seen such open, honest fear in his face as at that moment. At last, he cleared his throat. He held out his hand and she took it.

  
“The only thing I know to be true, whether in this room or out of it, is that I will love you from this day until my last. I will love you whether I am at your side or away from it.” His hands tightened around hers. “But I would be at your side, Ellana. From this day forward. For all the days that you will have me. Would you have me?”

  
Ellana felt like she was floating, and it was some invisible current that drew her closer to him. “I will always worry, Solas. I will always worry that I will wake up one day and you’ll just be gone. That there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

  
“I know,” he said, raising his other hand to her cheek. “And the alliances you built to stop me will not last. There will always be people in Tevinter, in Ferelden, in Orlais who would see me dead or made Tranquil, and those who would see our people returned to servitude. Wherever I go, there will be danger.”

  
“I know,” she said. The current was still carrying her, making her raise their clasped hands so they rested against her chest. “I want to help you find a way to restore the power of Elvhenan, but I don’t know that we can. I don’t even know that we’ll always agree about how to do it. There is no easy road in front of us.”

  
His thumb traced the corner of her eye. “You are my road, Vhen’an’ara. I will follow wherever that road leads.”

  
The current had carried her to the edge of something now, and she knew this was the moment she went over. The last moment to pull back. She leaned forward until their lips almost touched, and for a moment just enjoyed the anticipation.

  
“Vhen’an’ara,” she murmured, and then kissed him. It was a soft kiss - several soft kisses, actually, parting and rejoining, like each moment needed capturing. His thumbs traced her cheekbones and she held onto his wrist.

  
“I’ll get to kiss you every morning,” she said. It was halfway between a question and a statement.

  
“Yes,” he said. He was kissing her face now. “And I will tell you everything I dreamed.”

  
“But you have to wait at least five minutes,” she said. “Five minutes of kissing. Then dreams. Better yet, kissing, coffee, then dreams.”

  
“Must there be coffee every morning?” he said as he kissed her jaw. She could feel his nose wrinkle in distaste.

  
“You don’t have to kiss me after I drink it.”

  
“At least not on the mouth.” His lips were on the throat.

  
Her laugh was shivery as her skin prickled and she felt the first bloom of heat between her legs. He slipped the loose shirt off her shoulder and kissed her there, too, and she guided one of his hands to her breast. He hummed, a low, rumbling sound, in approval, as he weighed it in his hand, then rubbed the nipple through the thin fabric. She shivered again when he switched to the other, then leaned back to admire his handiwork.

  
“You were going to go downstairs like this? Look at you.” It was true - you could see the dark nipples pressed up against the shirt clear as day.

  
“Finding you was more important. It always will be,” she said.

  
“Lie back,” he replied, and she did, and he was braced above her, pushing up her shirt to run his hand up and down her side as he kissed her ear. She felt that first delicious throb of her bud swelling, so sweet she had to press her legs together to prolong the sensation. “Remind yourself that you said that whenever you are about to lose your temper with me,” he said, nipping the tip of her ear. She turned and scowled at him.

  
“Or you could simply learn to stop being infuriating.”

  
“Oh, but I am infuriating. Nearly as infuriating as the fact that after all my hard work, you are once again clothed and tense.” He punctuated it with another nip of her ear, this time on the lobe.

  
“Well, then don’t leave,” she said. “Ever, ever again.”

  
She took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him to her, slanted her mouth against his, and kissed him until they were both gasping. He pulled back only to help them both out of their shirts, and then he pressed tightly to her, so tight she could feel his heart hammering. His hand slid down the smooth plane of her ribs to the softness of her belly and then under the waistband of her breeches, groaning when he found no smalls and could immediately slip a finger between her folds and press down on that bundle of nerves. She groaned as he increased the pressure, then released, over and over again, just testing it, no friction at all.

  
“Infuriating,” she said.

  
“Yes,” he said. “But yours.”

  
She had to kiss him again, had to taste the words on his tongue. _Yours_. Then he broke away to pull away her breeches. He knelt there, looking down on her like it was the first time, his eyes tracing her every curve, like she was wondrous.

  
“Ma’asha,” he said softly, tracing a path down the center of her body with his fingers. She parted her legs in welcome and he slid one of them into her and crooked it, beckoning her. Her walls clenched and her breath hitched.

  
“Yours,” she said, rocking her hips against his hand as he beckoned again.

  
He moved to the foot of the bed and then two of his fingers reentered her and beckoned again, pressing against that sweet spot inside her. It was good, so good, but not enough, and she whined.

  
“Tell me what you need,” he said. “Always tell me what you need.”

  
“Your hands, your lips, your tongue - all of you.”

  
“Yes.”

  
His voice was hoarse as he bent down and closed his lips over her womanhood, sucking until she arched upward with a cry, the pleasure too intense. He use the tip of his tongue instead then, tracing designs over and around and inside the little hood, all the while beckoning these two fingers, inviting her, making her more and more slick around him. She heard herself groaning, praising him, telling him how much she loved his fingers and his tongue, how wet he made her, but all she could focus on was the tightening within her, the building tension, the way every feeling was pooling right at that single spot between her legs.

  
She was going to come - and then he drew back, slid his fingers slowly in and out of her instead of curling them, kissing her pearl instead of licking or sucking it, and her whole body tingled instead of drawing tight like a bowstring. She made a disgruntled sound and lifted her hips, trying to deepen the sensation again, and he obliged, pressing his tongue flat and hard against her and licking her again and again and again and this time she could even feel the first wave of her climax hit her when he drew suddenly away.

  
“Look at me,” he said. She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closed. “I need to see you.”

  
So she locked eyes with him when he lowered his head, watched as his fingers went in and curled, watched as he drew that most sensitive place between his lips and then rubbed his tongue over it, saw how dark and yearning and vulnerable his eyes were, how he needed this as much as she did, needed her, and then he closed his lips and sucked and thrust against that spot again and she was coming, keening his name, wave after wave rocking through her cunt, whole body contracting, watching as he nursed her through it, his tongue and hands never once leaving her until the cry she made was more of pain than pleasure.

  
“Again?” He asked when her breath slowed. She shook her head.

  
“I want you.”

  
He stood and removed his breeches and her throat caught at the sight of him, bare, free, aching, hers. She held out her arms for him and he laid down on top of her and kissed her and it felt like the first time - like she was shiny and new and nervous to have him inside her because of everything it would mean. But she still found herself opening her legs, gently rocking against his hardness, reveling in his groan as he rutted against her, coating himself in her slick. He was speaking in Elvhen to her, as he always did in moments like this - and she had to press him even closer and kiss him hard when she realized that it was because it was his mother tongue, the most natural, real words he could find to tell her how he felt through the haze of his arousal.  
“Ar lath ma,” she said, and it wasn’t until he stilled, until he pulled back and looked at her, that she realized she hadn’t said it to him in four long years.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she said again, cupping his face with her hand.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she said as he angled himself so he pressed against her entrance.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she said when he pressed forward, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her, struggling to keep his eyes locked on hers as pleasure threatened to overwhelm him.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she said finally, when he was buried all the way in her, finally home. Then he leaned down and kissed her, and finally whispered back:

  
“Ar lath ma.”

  
He started to move, slowly, drawing himself all the way out and then pushing back in. She got that delicious feeling again of his head parting her folds and sinking all the way in, the thickest part of him rubbing every inch of her, setting every nerve on fire. She lifted one leg over his hips and he groaned at the new angle, stilling for a moment. He looked helplessly at her, like there were a hundred things he needed to say and couldn’t, so she lifted the other leg and pulled him closer, deeper, so deep she could feel the curls that surrounded the root of him pressed against her.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she said again. She had to think for a moment, think around the way her walls were already fluttering around him a little, around her beating heart, around his blue eyes, before she could remember what she wanted to say next, the phrase he'd taught her once. “Vera em su tarasyl.” _Take me to the sky._

  
He started to move in earnest, short, shallow thrusts that rubbed against that sweet spot inside her.

  
She lost herself in the rhythm they built, shook as he drove harder and faster, shook because he was shaking too, shutting his eyes. She touched his face until he opened his eyes. She was so close - she just needed him - what were the words again?

  
“Rosa’da’din in’em,” she said. _Come inside me._

  
His breath hitched and he thrust faster, harder, so she could hear the sound of their joining. Then he pitched forward, sheathed himself as deep as could, and cried out, and the sight and sound and feeling of him coming made her clench around him, made her gasp at the waves of pleasure that spread through her. She rocked against him, and he cried out again, burying his face in her shoulder, so she held him tightly and kept rocking, drawing out every last instant she could for him.

  
It wasn’t until he lifted his head that she saw tears in his eyes, or realized she had tears in hers. She blinked hers away and reached up to wipe away the ones that slipped out of his eyes.

  
“That bad?” She said after a moment, and he laughed, and pulled out of her so he could kiss the space above her heart.

  
“We obviously need to try again,” he said. His eyes flashed blue and she felt the familiar soothing cool of healing magic wash over her abdomen and into her core, making her sigh and writhe. She looked down at him and saw him still hard, still flushed.

  
“Ar lath ma,” he said.

  
“Ar lath ma,” she replied. “Again?”

  
*

  
Surely there was no greater wonder in creation than Ellana, naked and spread and sated and yet still reaching for him. Or the fact that the spell was only half the reason he was already hard for her again.

  
He kissed her and it was another wonder, to share her breath.

  
“Fingers or mouth?” he asked her in the low voice he knew she loved, and it was another wonder - the ease of this intimacy, of asking her which she preferred (he would have her both ways anyway before the day was over - all the power coiled in him now, returned after his long slumber, sang to him of eternity, of taking his sweet time with his woman).

  
“Mouth,” she said, kissing him again.

  
Not surprising - even with his rejuvenation spell she would be sensitive and he could be softer this way, and he was already mentally mapping what he would do to her as he began to edge down the bed. For now he would start with tracing light circles over her mound with his fingertips, just enough to reawaken the nerves and make her restless, while he took her nipple between his teeth. What a relief, to focus only on this (giving her the counterpoint between soft and sharp, anticipation and sensation), on the fact that she was his. The guilt would not go forever but for now it was gone.

  
“Wait,” she said when he was already down at her hip. He looked up and she was reaching for him. “I - miss you up here. Come back. Touch me instead.”

  
He obliged, but even as he was nuzzling her neck and ear and sliding his finger back and forth from her slit to her nub, he found himself missing the sight of her sex and the musky smell of her. She was pressed close to him, though, clearly needing the feeling of his skin on hers, the solid reality of him close to her. There was a way to have both, though they had never tried it - something new he could share with her now that he was clear headed and free (please, let that illusion last) and they had time. His cock twitched at the thought. He paused what he was doing and tilted her face towards his to get her attention.

  
"I want to show you something - something that will let me use my mouth but still let you feel close to me. Would you like to try, ma haurasha?"

  
She smiled, not the wicked smile he so enjoyed when they were in bed, but a softer, more trusting smile. One that made him want to wrap himself around her and keep her safe forever (he would take her from behind he decided then, not on hands and knees but lying down, his body covering hers, his hand underneath her so she could grind herself against it, so she could come apart again as safe and secure and warm as he could make her).

  
"What do you have in mind?" She asked.

  
"Lie on your side," he hesitated then. "Your left side, I think. You may want to have your right hand free." She did as he asked. He rearranged himself so he was lying the opposite way, gently drawing her closer, using gentle caresses to arrange her arms and legs so her sex were open to him.

  
"OH," she said. "This? I thought Dorian made this one up."

  
He couldn’t help but snort and kiss the softness of her inner thigh. "As wise as you are to be skeptical of your Tevene friend, he was not lying about this. Do you feel closer to me now?" He ran his free hand along her back and breathed in, again enjoying the heady scent of her arousal, the way it made his cock throb gently.

  
"How could I not?" She said quietly, and then her hand was around him, running lightly up and down his shaft, squeezing gently when she reached the head. The spike of pleasure hit him low in his belly, in his balls. He let out a ragged breath before responding.

  
"I would be inside you again when I finish you here - you do not need to focus on me." But then her mouth was around his head instead of her hand, warm and silky and wet, and another sharp breath brought in more of that delicious smell and he got harder. "But I will not complain if you do."

  
He lowered his head to her sex then and began licking her, careful, exploratory, mindful of the new angle. It brought back old memories of old lovers in places that did not exist anymore, but as always, with the Veil in place it was different. With her it was different. He could focus fully on the delicate folds, the way he could taste her arousal and his own seed now, the way she was melting against him, taking more of him into her mouth with a soft hum. No magic or spirits danced on the edges of his consciousness, and maybe that was beautiful, and not sad. It was certainly beautiful the way she was already writhing a little, the way he could draw back for a moment and finger her and see her sex open up more clearly than anyone ever could, a secret for himself and himself alone. There was beauty here in this world and he needed her to feel the force of that, needed to dive back into licking her, this time with hard, sure licks on her pearl, so powerful she had let to him out of her mouth so she could cry out and dig her fingers into his side.

  
"Like that," she groaned. "And your fingers-" she cut herself off with another groan but he knew what she wanted, because it was what he wanted - to be as close to her as possible, to be so tangled in her there was no end. So he slid two fingers into her and she took him in her mouth again and he wasn’t sure he could hold the position long, wasn’t even sure he could hold himself back from coming in her mouth as she sucked on him and pressed her tongue hard against his head (he wanted to come, he wanted to come, but not yet), but she was shaking and she needed this and when she came it was with a long, low groan around his cock and walls spasming tight against his fingers, her wetness spilling out of her with each wave.

  
She was boneless afterwards and let him slip out of her mouth. He was painfully hard now but he couldn’t let her go yet. He kissed her sex once, twice, and ran his hand up and down her side, then slowly flipped around so they were facing the same way again. He lowered his head and kissed her softly. She hummed, pleased, and he lowered himself a little so his hips were flush with hers (just a little pressure on his cock, just enough to take the edge off). He throbbed and she spread her legs so he fell between them.

  
"I'm ready for you," she said, pressing upwards towards him, letting him feel her wet heat. He shook his head, remembering what he wanted to do.

  
"I want to try something else. Would you get on your hands and knees?"

  
Her eyebrows went up and she smiled faintly. She always loved having him like that, but he rarely offered.

  
"I don’t know if I can hold myself up at this point," she said.

  
"Let me worry about that," he said.

  
He gave her space to flip over and she did. She hesitated for a moment, realizing she had only one hand now to hold herself up. He ran a hand down her back, soothing.

  
"I have you, my love."

  
She was so trusting, splayed there before him as he took hold of himself and guided his head to her opening. It was why he'd barely been able to enjoy this position when she offered before. It was the most obvious, intimate example of her trust. Well, that and the fact that she inevitably asked for it by asking him to take her like a wolf. But now? All it brought out in him was an overpowering surge of care and gentleness.

  
"Good," he murmured as he slid himself in, stomach tightening at how slick she was around him, how ready. "I have you. You feel so good." He realized, belatedly, that he was saying this in Elvhen, but from her sigh he knew she understood the spirit of his words. He put both hands on her hips as he slid further home, pleasure arcing from the tip to the root of his cock over and over, making him swell and fill her more. "Too good," he said, holding still. "I need a moment." He ran one hand up and down her back, ran his fingertips into her hair, until that tightening deep in his balls released a little. "I want you to lie down now, vhenan. I will help you if you need."

  
She started to lie down and he held her hip in case she needed it, groaning when he slid out a little, knowing how good it would feel when he slid back. He followed her, keeping his legs on the outside of hers, until he was lying on top of her, her slight form entirely covered by his broader one. He was careful to keep his weight on his arms. He realized now that she was quieter than usual - sighing and moving and certainly enjoying herself, but not commenting or teasing or begging for more or asking him why he was doing this. Her face was turned to the side on the pillow and he met her gaze as best he could and saw how wide and dark her pupils were, how deep and honest her need was for him, how much she wanted him to just care for her in this moment.  
He began to move slowly in and out of her, not breaking eye contact. This was not a position for moving very far, but one for staying close, for letting her feel his head press deep in her over and over. Her eyes fluttered and she gasped as he started to move faster (she was so warm - so soft - so silken and yielding where he was hard and hot and demanding - but he couldn’t give in to that yet).

  
"I will shelter you," he whispered in her ear as he rocked in and out of her. "I will shelter you with my body and my mind and my heart. I will protect you from everything that I can, however I can."

  
She made a sound that was half a sob and he let her feel his weight as he kept thrusting gently against her. "You are mine and I am yours and I will care for you in every way you need."

  
"More," she said.

  
"Close your legs," he said, knowing it would undo him. She did and he kept his legs close beside hers and she was suddenly so much tighter that it made him cry out, made him start leaking inside her. Not yet. He slid one hand under their joined bodies and rested it against her mound and then he started fucking her, an ugly word, maybe, but a primal one, and that's how he felt. Primal. Caring for his woman in the most ancient of ways - drawing strangled cries from her as each short hard thrust drove her most sensitive spot against his hand and the head of his cock against the sweet place inside her.

  
"Please, more," she begged again and again. "I need you, I love you, vhenan -"

  
He was saying things to her too but the feeling of her slick tight walls on his cock was overwhelming his other senses. He could feel his climax gathering at the base, knew he was going to spill hard in her, and he drove harder, faster. He felt her walls start contracting around him and heard her begging him, and then she cried out over and over as she came and he thrust in one more time, as far as he could go, and then he was coming, whimpering at how good it was, rocking into her so sparks danced in front of his eyes, so that he filled her completely, so that she drained him utterly.

  
He was lying on top of her, he realized as he came back to himself, but she didn't seem to care. He nuzzled her ear, nibbled along the long bladed tip of it, and she shivered and his cock twitched one last time in her in response.

  
"Good?" He asked. She nodded and he noticed now that she had tears on her cheeks again.

  
"Good."

  
"You cried again, my heart," he said, moving to slide out of her. She made a noise of protest.

  
"You just - this is what I missed the most. The way you take care of me. And you never promised before, that you would always do it."

  
"I did not want to make a promise I couldn't keep."

  
He was softening now, slipping out of her on his own, so he lay on his side beside her, withdrawing his hand, too. She remained where she was, her face turned away from him, so that at first he could not hear what she said next.

  
"What was that?"

  
"And now you can? I mean - people say all kinds of things in bed," she rolled over to faced him and she was smiling, but there was still need in her eyes.

  
"I meant every word. I am not perfect and neither are you -"

  
"Oh really now?" Whatever weight was in her had been lifted, clearly.

  
"Hush. I know we will still hurt each other. We just have to remember to care for each other after."

  
"If it means doing that again, then by all means, let's." He chuckled and reached out to take hold of her ass appreciatively.

  
"I could rejuvenate us again," he said.

  
"Not yet," she said. "I want to bask."

  
Bask they did. Fingers twined, legs twined, soaking in the sun but not paying attention to how far it moved. He told her that this was what time often felt like in Elvhenan - so slow it was nonexistent. She reminded him of the beauty of counting moments, knowing they would slip away. They discovered new scars on one another from their mutual struggles. Ellana found knots in the muscles on his back that simply had to be remedied with a massage, which of course eventually led to her rolling him over and finding him hard.

  
"Whatever am I do to with this stiff spot?" She crooned as she took him in hand and slid him home. She pinned his hands down and told him this was all for him, just for him, and when she was confident he would listen she let him go and touched herself and rode him until they both saw stars.

  
“Getting old on me, hahren?” She teased when he started drifting off afterwards. Normally he might have bristled, but instead he laughed.

  
“Maybe I am.”

  
She rained kisses along his shoulder. “Could you be? Could you be aging now, with the Veil in place?”

  
“I am not sure.”

  
She settled down to lying at his side. “I don’t know what scares me more. The thought that you aren't, or the thought that you are.”

  
He rested his head against her hair and breathed in the scent of her scalp - oils from their bath, hair, sex, and that unnamed quality that was just her. He kissed her forehead, and they lapsed into silence. Joined their hands and held them up to the light. Searched for answers he knew they would not find now.

  
Eventually the sunlight began to fade and both their stomachs were growling, and they had to form a plan.

  
"First, another bath," she decided. "Then I need to check and see if I have a contraceptive brew. Haven't taken one in ages. Then - we face them. If we wait long enough they may even have started drinking without us. Would that be better or worse than them being sober?"

  
"That depends. Exactly how many intimate questions would you like to be asked, and by whom?"

  
She sighed. "They're lucky I like all of them."

  
Their bath was quicker this time, less sensuous, but after Ellana took the brew she found in her chest (what a strange twinge in his heart, watching her do that - but that was a conversation for another day), when they started dressing, a hunger overcame him again, and then he was taking her half clothed against the wall, her nails raking down his back under his shirt, a litany of dirty words on her lips.

  
"Fuck, you’re so hard. But this wasn’t in the plan," she gasped.

  
"And?" He said, slowing down now, realizing he wanted to draw this out, because on the other side of the door was reality.

  
"We have to go out at some point," she said. Then she cupped his face. "It's all right, Solas. It’s all right."

  
So he buried his face against her neck and thrust into her again and again until it was over with a shudder, and she was smiling down at him. Of course, they both needed to wipe down again, and he watched her as he did. He watched the body he knew so well - hands and lips and legs and eyes and heart - the woman he treasured, as she prepared to step out into a new world with him. She was never part of any plan - but, then again, when had any of his plans worked out the way he wanted? As she slid her hand into his, he thought for the first time that such a thing might not be a tragedy after all.

  
"Ready?" She asked.

  
"Let's begin," he said, and opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> (Also, let's all pause and laugh at the fact that this used to be the end of the fic.)


	6. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Many thanks to all those who left kudos and comments for making my day, but especially to Valyrias and Skye, who encouraged me to continue!
> 
> This chapter has lots more plot than the others. I promise there is still smut!
> 
> Some "blink and you'll miss it" things to note about this chapter: Adoribull, references to the main prequel fic, and a spoiler for the ending of the Jaws of Hakkon DLC (which is FANTASTIC and I want to write more about it). Just letting you know!

As they went downstairs and came into view of their companions - Dorian, Bull, Sera, Cole, Thom, and Varric - Ellana realized that they were still holding hands. For an instant, she tensed and tried to draw away - then she remembered. This wasn’t a badly kept secret anymore, like it had been during their time in the Inquisition. So she squeezed his hand, and he gave hers a gentle squeeze in return. This was where promise met reality - where they actually, for the first time, acted like partners in front of others.

  
“Good evening, everyone,” she said as they took their seats. The little roasted hen waiting for her on her plate smelled so good that for a moment she forgot to be embarrassed by the various giggles happening around her. She was never terribly shy about sex - she _was_  Dalish after all, and Dalish camps were not exactly private - but their relationship was always about so much more than that. And it was all on display now.

  
“Good evening? I’m reasonably willing to bet you’ve had a better evening than I have,” Dorian said. He waggled his eyebrows and Sera snorted and Ellana wasn’t sure whether to sigh or giggle or turn around and go back upstairs.

  
“Was that a dig? It felt like a dig,” Bull replied. “The night’s still young, you know, kadan.”

  
“How can the night be young?” Cole asked.

  
“Never mind how the evening was - how was your whole day?” Sera, this time.

  
“Hang on - I need my notebook before they answer.” Ellana was ready to laugh, except that Varric punctuated this by getting up like he was actually _looking_  for it.

  
“Honestly - did all of you sit down here all day rehearsing that?” She finally managed to get in.

  
“Only since the first bottle of wine,” Varric replied.

  
She sighed, but she could not fully hide her smile. “Weren’t you all supposed to be gone today, anyway?”

  
“Delays at the harbor, I’m afraid. Were you getting tired of the bedroom so soon? Hoping for more exotic locales?” Dorian smirked.

  
“Maybe,” she said, and snuck a glance at Solas.

  
Her stomach was still fluttering with nerves. It was occurring to her more and more every second they were down there that she didn't know if Solas was inclined to be open about romance or sex at all, or if his hesitance before was entirely related to their - situation. His lie. But when she saw his face he was smiling a little. Perhaps not inclined to join in on the ribbing, but not bothered by it.

  
“So can we expect more children for the glory of the Elvhen empire?” Sera asked, making sure to gesture dramatically with her wine goblet and imitate Solas’s lower voice.

  
“Let’s settle the peace talks first,” she said.

  
“Right enough. Won't be an Elvhen empire without a place to put it. But just so _you_  know, even if you do succeed, don't expect _me_  there any time soon.”

  
“I’d imagine there will be many of the People who share your sentiment,” Solas said, a little archly. “But those who want a home deserve it.”

  
“No fighting at the dinner table, Dread Wolf,” Thom warned.

  
“We wouldn’t want to spoil anyone’s appetite,” Ellana said. She started to grin as she remembered back to that morning, to what felt like an age ago. “Oh, and by the way, the Dread Wolf is quite ticklish.”

  
And Solas sighed, but it was the long suffering sigh she knew, the one she’d heard when she’d stubbornly insisted she was fine after a fight, when she called him hahren, when she insisted that he and Dorian were more alike than they thought. They all earned it from him more than once that evening, and their fair share of quiet chuckles, too. At some point he took her hand on top of the table. Their friends’ eyes were upon them, and even if her stomach still did flips now and then at the thought, her chest was tight with pride.

  
*

  
They used an eluvian to return to Halamshiral for the peace talks. Ellana had been pleased at the convenience at first. Of course, that was before she realized how abrupt the transition would be. First they were in Kirkwall, secluded in more or less their own world - waking and sleeping at each other’s side, reading in the garden, walking in the city. Then, after a few short trips through sections of the Crossroads, they were in Halamshiral, surrounded by whispered words (as if she could have understood their Orlesian, even if it was shouted) and gilded masks that followed their every move. It was not shocking that they arrived together. He had been released to her custody, after all. They made no move to suggest they had arrived together for any reason other than convenience.

  
But, as always, there was Varric’s book.

  
Well - and Ellana’s own personal affirmations of what the book said.

  
And it was Orlais.

  
So of course people watched and wondered at the innumerable parties that first day, and asked vague, pointed, poetic questions.

  
“Is it true you no longer _dread_  nights alone, Inquisitor?”

  
“I am sure it brings you much pleasure to see the end of this conflict, Lady Lavellan.”

  
At least the Orlesians were vague about it. The other representatives were far less so. It was Arl Teagan’s words that stopped her cold in tracks.

  
“So the Grey Wardens get exiled, Corypheus is killed, but the Dread Wolf walks free? I suppose it's a good thing none of them ever tried kissing you.”

  
“Arl Teagan - is it true that your nephew is finally expecting an heir?” What would she ever do without Josephine? The delicacy of these negotiations had been enough to tempt her to leave Antiva, and Ellana didn't know what she would’ve done in that moment otherwise. Probably immediately begin an argument about what an awful, inappropriate comparison he had just drawn. She remembered her last interaction with him then. She had been more rude than necessary to Teagan when she chose to maintain the Inquisition - and why?

  
Because she was still half-sick with pain and fear at Solas’s revelations - and, to be fair, at the loss of her arm, and the potential loss of the Inquisition, the only place where she felt she made sense anymore. Still -

  
She looked across the table, to where Solas had been seated. He seemed to be involved in an animated discussion with several mages who’d been seated near him. Another clever ploy on Josie’s part. He did not notice her staring and for a moment she indulged in it, enjoying the passion and conviction and animation in his face, the way his hands wove through the air as he explained things she would never understand.

  
When they retired to a nearby study for after dinner drinks, Josephine took Ellana aside.

  
“Your usual room has been prepared just as you like it. I - did have the servants prepare a separate room for Solas.”

  
“Oh?” Ellana was too good at this now not to hide the disappointment she felt. Part of it was disappointment in herself, anyway, for not assuming it would be this way.

  
“After Arl Teagan’s comment - you know I am happy for your happiness, but we can’t let anything personal become part of these talks. It would become leverage that could be used against us.”

  
“Of course. You are absolutely right.” People had noticed they were standing aside and were looking their way. Ellana made sure to smile and touch Josie’s arm, as if they were sharing a private joke. “I should have listened to you and Leliana about Varric’s book. The parts about us. I made everything more difficult, didn't I?”

  
“We will have to see. In some ways it is good to already have our version of the story out there, rather than someone else’s. But we need to stay in control of that story.”

  
“Agreed. I will make sure Solas knows that, too.” She sensed Josie’s imminent interruption and laughed, playing up the sound. “Don’t worry, Josie. I am good for nothing if not sneaking around the Winter Palace undetected. Tonight will be the only night I do so - you have my word.”

  
She took her time after she retired to her rooms, waiting until she was certain that all the other notables had done the same, and then she made her way to his room using the old tricks she knew. She would never be the archer she was, but at least this was still hers - the power to step without sound, to choose the right shadows, to sense where people were blind. She probably didn't need to exercise such caution but after a night spent playing the Game it was good to feel like a hunter again. She was alive with the feeling of it when she at last stole into Solas’s room, so instead of announcing herself, she crept up behind him where he stood looking out of a window, not making a sound until her arms were around his waist and her face was buried against his shoulder.

  
“Got you,” she said. He started at first, then relaxed into her touch.

  
“I was not sure you would come to me tonight. I thought our separate rooms made your predicament clear.”

  
“Our separate rooms and all the comments.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and he ran his hands up and down her forearms.

  
“I am sorry, my heart. Few of them were directed at me, but I suppose that makes sense. There are those who still wish me harm for what I’ve done - but all my connection to you does is redeem me. For you - their Herald, their Inquisitor - it must by definition be the opposite.”

  
“It didn’t even occur to me that this would be an issue. I’ve spent days thinking about what to say about the Dales, your forces, the artifacts - but this?” She tightened her embrace - but suddenly, no matter how tight it was, it would not be tight enough.

  
“Relax,” he said. “Let me see you.” She loosened her grip so he could turn and look down on her. “While we are here, we will give them nothing else to talk about. If I seem distant from you in waking, know that it is only for that reason.”

  
“So you’ll come to me in dreams?”

  
“Of course.” He put his hand on her cheek and she turned to kiss the palm.

  
“I’ve spent far more time sleeping apart from you, but it’ll feel strange to be alone in my bed,” she said.

  
“There’s nothing wrong with a little anticipation, ma haurasha,” he said. “You should go. No need for anyone to go to your room and find you missing. I will see you in the Fade soon enough.”

  
He kissed her, long and slow, and then they parted.

  
*

  
Ellana walked out of the first day of the talks nearly shaking with rage.

  
“Inquisitor -”

  
“Please, Josephine. Give me a moment. Say I’ve gone to powder my nose.”

  
She went around the corner and found a nook to tuck herself into. She let herself shake with fury, even if she didn't know exactly who it was directed at - Arl Teagan, or herself.

  
He’d called to have her investigated as a traitor. An actual traitor to the very people she’d protected for five years. Even if Cassandra shut him down immediately and said that she acted with the Chantry’s knowledge and consent, those words were out there now.

  
Ellana Lavellan - traitor.

  
So none of it mattered. Not one nightmare. Not one compromise. Not one favor. All because she’d dared to fall in love and admit it.

  
Was this going to be her legacy after all? Was what she had with Solas worth that?

  
How could she even think such a question?

  
Focus.

  
She took a steadying breath, then headed to the room where they were breaking for lunch. She smiled graciously at those who greeted her and took her seat, intent in eating and avoiding any conversation, on curling as far into herself as she could without drawing too much attention. The only thing that startled her out of it was the sudden brush of something against her cheek.

  
She looked up from her plate, but of course no one was there. So what had -?

  
Another brush, this time against her chin, like someone trying to turn her face. She followed the feeling and saw Solas standing across the room from her, absorbed in conversation with Cassandra. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, but she knew what he’d been doing. He quirked them once more and she felt a finger run down the curve of her ear and tingles spread down her neck and back. His hands went still then, and he did nothing else throughout the luncheon, but she knew what it meant.

_I'm here._

  
He found her in her dream that night, surrounded by aravels and skinning a halla.

  
“Is this what you’d like to do to Arl Teagan?” he asked.

  
She paused. She wasn't sure exactly why this was where her mind had brought her, but maybe that was part of it. Things clarified, as they always did when he was in her dreams, and after a moment she replied.

  
“I grew up thinking this was all I would be. A valued hunter, providing for and protecting my clan. If anyone remembered me for anything, it would be them.”

  
“And yet you are alone here in your dream.”

  
She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “And I didn't really think they would remember me, either.”

  
“And now?”

  
She looked down at her hands - realized for the first time that she had both of them. Then the left one glowed green, and vanished, and they were no longer surrounded by forest and aravels - they were in the Winter Palace.

  
“I shouldn't care about any of this. No one was going to remember me before the Anchor. It shouldn't matter now if they think I’m a traitor.”

  
Solas looked at her and then shook his head slightly, as if he’d had something to say and thought better of it. “What can I do to help, vhenan?”

  
She heard voices, dimly, coming from somewhere else, saying her name.

  
“Do what you did at lunch today,” she said. He chuckled and all at once she felt the warmth of his hands on her cheeks, her shoulders, her hips - just like before, in the Fade she could feel the emotion behind it more clearly, not just the physical sensation. The love, and the sadness too. Of course this was hurting him.

  
“Break the rule about Fade sex one more time?” She murmured.

  
“We shouldn’t.” But he was pressing his whole body against her now, not just using magic, and she could feel exactly how much it disagreed with his words.

  
“Please?”

  
“Sa’lath…” But he was kissing her neck, nipping it in places. She wished he could leave marks in the real world, that she could walk into the negotiations the next day with bruises on her neck and tell them to fuck off.

  
“Solas,” she said in the voice she knew she loved - just the tiniest bit helpless. “You said what we did before was only one of the ways to make love in the Fade. Don't you want to show me the others?” He dug his hands into her hips now, held her tight against him, and she started to grind against his arousal, started to feel pressure building between her own legs, more sudden and intense than it would have been in the waking world and -

  
“Ellana, I am so sorry to wake you.”

  
Josephine.

  
She was abruptly out of the dream and sitting up in her bed.

  
“You left for bed so quickly after dinner that we didn't have a chance to talk about what happened today during the talks. I am afraid we must discuss what will come up tomorrow before either of us gets any sleep.” She smiled sheepishly. “But I brought cakes as an apology.”

  
Ellana wet her lips at the sight and tried to not to think about how they’d felt only moments before, in the Fade. “Solas will be jealous when I tell him.”

  
“I am sure.” There was a brief silence as they each took one of the cakes, and then Josie went on. “Just remember that this will pass. It is a tactic to weaken our position and discredit you as a force in these negotiations - don't take it personally. And in Holy Andraste’s name, do not lose your temper.”

  
Ellana was thankful for perhaps the thousandth time in her life that her dark skin hid her blushes pretty well.

  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  
“They are still telling stories about how you stormed into the Exalted Council, threw Divine Justinia’s writ at their feet, and told them no one but Divine Victoria could tell you what to do, then walked out. In some versions you use some rather strong language, and throw the book straight at their faces.”

  
Keeper Deshanna had always said that if anything was going to be Ellana’s downfall, it was her temper. She was not an angry person by nature, but once pushed, even she didn’t know how to stop herself.

  
“Have I mentioned lately how very, very grateful I am for you? I will never be a good diplomat.”

  
“It is something you should consider,” Josephine said. “If you aim to be a citizen of this new Elvhen nation, you will be one of the best links it has to the other nations of Thedas. Just - don't throw things when you are called into sensitive negotiations.”

  
It was a late enough night discussing everything that might come up in the next day’s talks that Ellana didn't have the energy to consider throwing anything at anyone. Instead of provoking anger, each snipe at her (“We could never give up Halamshiral - I do hope you weren't hoping to honeymoon there, Inquisitor”) only made her feel more tired. More on edge. Teagan had emboldened others to join in now - Orlesians and Free Marchers. Josie was right, though. They did not seriously pursue the idea of prosecuting her for treason. They trotted it out to make the things they asked for look petty, or to take the glow out of a victory, like when they agreed to formally cede the Arbor Wilds (as if they’d been using it for anything anyway). But every now and then, when one representative or another said something or gave her a look, Ellana would feel an invisible hand on her shoulder or her thigh.

  
By the end of the day they’d gone over the process for ceding the Arbor Wilds to the elves, the promises for military aid from said elves in the event of a Blight, the potential trade partnerships, and become stalled in discussing the reparations for various incidents and skirmishes through their conflict. Ellana was half-tempted to skip dinner and go straight to bed, and not only because she and Solas had scarcely been able to exchange a word all day. She dragged herself to the dining room anyway. She’d scarcely taken her seat when she heard a voice behind her.

  
“I am surprised you are not at his side, celebrating the new Elvhen homeland.”

  
“Vivienne - it is good to see you. I did not think you would be here,” Ellana said, rising. Vivienne kissed her cheek, but it was not a warm greeting. Vivienne had been an excellent mentor during their time together in the Inquisition - motherly, even, in her own strange way - but she categorically disagreed with the way Ellana handled Solas and his plans, and how she’d spoken in favor of Fiona’s College of Enchanters.

  
“This is a victory, I suppose,” Vivienne said. “I never once doubted that your people deserved better treatment than what they were getting. But this is a massive change for Thedas - and I think none of us know the cost.”

  
“I know that. And you know that no one will work as tirelessly as I will to see that the cost is as small as we can make it.”

  
The sound of people scraping their plates and laughing and refilling their wine glasses was suddenly deafening. Someday she would stop taking on monumental tasks. Maybe it was that loud for Vivienne, too. Maybe she wouldn’t say anything else.

  
“So are the rumors true then? You have taken him back?”

  
Shit.

  
“Aren’t you the one who taught me never to kiss and tell?”

  
Vivienne smiled. “A lesson you have taken to heart, I see. I do so wish you might have listened to the lessons I tried to impart about love. I will never forget seeing the two of you here, all those years ago, during Celene’s ball. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him. I saw trouble even then. You are a tremendous woman, Ellana - one who has shaped and continues to shape the fates of many. But love can distort even the wisest judgment - and you have always deserved someone better than him. Someone who did not take _convincing_  to see the worth of the world you fought so tirelessly to protect.”

  
It was not a conversation Ellana had forgotten. _So much knowledge, and so little personal history_. Vivienne was right then. Could she be right now?

  
“I’m not sure how you want me to respond to that.”

  
“I don’t, my dear. I simply feel that you deserve my honesty, after all we’ve been through together.”

  
“I appreciate that, Grand Enchanter.”

  
Her use of Vivienne’s title seemed to have the desired effect of distancing them once again. Vivienne smiled, her best court smile, and they talked of other things.

  
*

  
If Solas came to her that night, Ellana didn't remember when she woke.

  
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be anymore. Waking and wondering if it had been him. At least she could see him now, hear the sound of his voice as he defended yet again why liberated slaves was not something a person could demand reparations for. But by the end of the day she was once again bored, exhausted, and on edge. And, of course, that was when Arl Teagan spoke once more.

  
“I have a final issue I’d like to lay before the assembled dignitaries - that of Ellana Lavellan’s continued service as Inquisitor.”

  
“And what issue might you have?” Cassandra’s voice was tight with irritation. She’d put her best Divine foot forward throughout the talks, but the mask was slipping now.

  
“Let us be frank. By the Inquisitor’s own admission, she was Fen’Harel’s lover during the fight against Corypheus. She was the one who first revealed his duplicity, and also the one who insisted time and again that we try to negotiate with his forces rather than find a way to kill him. Even setting aside the fact that this nearly led to him succeeding in his plans -”

  
“Come to the point, Arl Teagan.”

  
“Simply put - we can no longer trust Inquisitor Lavellan because of her entanglement with this man. Seeing as how the Chantry allowed HER to rule on the Dread Wolf’s fate, I doubt you will allow an investigation into her likely treason.” Under the table, Josephine put a hand on her knee. She didn’t dare look at Solas to see his reaction. “Instead I will ask what role, if any, you envision for her in the years to come.”

  
“I will remain your Inquisitor,” Ellana said, before Cassandra could speak. Josephine’s hand grew a little tighter on her knee but she didn't stop. She couldn’t. She couldn’t have them all sitting here thinking she was this - blind, besotted fool who cared nothing for them. “As Ameridan was before me. A bridge between our peoples, bound by friendship. Now more than ever our peoples will need someone like that.”

  
“Another story we must take on your word alone - this spurious rumor that Ameridan was an elf _and_ a mage.”

  
“Do not forget, Arl Teagan, that I was also present at the Old Temple,” Cassandra said. “I have confirmed the Inquisitor’s story many times.”

  
“Even so - Divine Victoria, you can't pretend that having someone with no professed belief in Andraste, with such _close_  ties to a known enemy of the peoples of Thedas -”

  
“A known enemy who surrendered of his own accord and is allowing these very peace talks to remove the source of his power?” Ellana shot back.

  
“Peace!” It was Cassandra’s battlefield voice, one that spoke of years of command. “Inquisitor Lavellan has never acted in anything but the best interests of ALL the people of Thedas, which is more than can be said of most people in this room. That said - I can understand why her - connections could cause some anxiety. We will deliberate on this tomorrow. Tonight, we will celebrate the end of these hostilities.”

  
Shit. Dammit. Another day of talks. One that would focus only on her. On what she’d done and hadn’t done. On who she loved. On who she would be, going forward.

  
And there was still the ball that night to live through.

  
Fuck.

  
She didn’t dance so much as stalk around the ballroom making small talk. Empress Celene was unusually kind to her, taking her on several turns around the ballroom, keeping her champagne full, complimenting her on her gown (Josie’s doing, of course). When they ended their final turn, the empress leaned in and murmured:

  
“Take heart, Inquisitor. I know what it is to love someone others say you should not. Now, on the other side of it - I would do it all over again.”

  
The empress gaze had fallen on Briala, a few steps away. But she did not approach the elf, instead gliding away to see her handmaidens. Ellana tried to take comfort in her words, but all she could feel were the countless eyes on her. Even if half of them were covered in masks. She knew she needed to mingle, to smooth ruffled feathers - maybe fresh air on the balcony would help. It was empty, blissfully. She went to the far left of it, out of the sight of the doors.

  
“Vhenan?”

  
“Oh - hello.” She wanted nothing more than to embrace Solas in that moment, and the fact that she couldn’t fanned the flames of her anger.

  
“What is it?”

  
“I just - we can't be seen out here. I probably don't even have enough time to explain what I’m feeling.”

  
“Maybe you don't need to.”

 

She studied his face. His expression was neutral as usual, except for the eyes she knew well. And in them there was restrained need, the same frustration she felt.

  
There wasn’t time for words. But maybe -

  
It was stupid. Irrational. Irresponsible. But if that was how they saw her anyway -

  
She took hold of his shirt and pulled him toward the railing of the balcony. There was a tiny garden off to the side of it, out of the way of the light. She climbed over and he followed, and once they were in the cool shadows she took hold of his shirt again and pulled him close and kissed him hard.

  
“Are you certain about this?” He asked when she drew back for air. “Someone could find us.”

  
“I need you, ma’lin.”

  
“We have to be quick,” he said, already running a hand down her thigh, rubbing the silk of her dress against you.

  
“And I’m not ready for you yet,” she said, knowing she was already a little wet just at the thought of having him here, but knowing too that she was still tight.

  
“Well,” he said, kissing her neck as his hand went lower, and began bunching up her skirts. “I know you hate dresses, but there are some advantages.”

  
Then he was on his knees under the skirt, and his long fingers had pulled her smalls aside, and his tongue was running up and down the seam of her sex until she was relaxing, warming, opening for him, and he flicked it across the bundle of nerves at the top and _gods_ , how had she gone four years without this, again? She bit down on her lip, gentle at first and the harder, and it fueled her frustration and her desire alike.

  
He kept licking her, now with his tongue flat, now guiding her to lift a leg so he could slip it in and out of her, now on the outside again, long and slow, until he seemed satisfied and drew away.

  
“Now?” he asked.

  
“Now,” she said, already untying his laces and reaching in so she could touch the hot, soft head of his cock and run her thumb over it, spreading his own wetness the way he’d done hers. He growled low at that, his body going rigid as he pressed forward into her touch.

  
They both fumbled to pull her skirts up enough and push her high enough up against the wall that he could begin pushing himself inside her, and she burned a little at the size of him but loved that feeling, too. It pulled her out of the haze of worry that had filled her and into solid reality.

  
“I don’t think I’ve ever had you before you’ve come,” he whispered into her ear, his voice a little hoarse as he kept rocking into her. “You’re so tight - are you alright?”

  
“Yes,” she said, trying to squirm closer so he could get deeper, but he had her pretty well pinned against the cool marble wall. She could still hear the music playing, the courtiers laughing - even the hush of silk as people passed the nearby open window. Then with one final jerk of his hips, Solas was all the way inside of her and they both gasped. She was so much more full of him like this, so much more aware of every inch. Every inch of him that they grudged her for. She heard his soft groan and it was the sound that they said made her untrustworthy. Because she was wet between her legs now they didn't care about every drop of blood she’d shed to save their lives.

  
“Forget all of them,” he said against her neck, rocking against her, pressing his body against the place where she throbbed. “Forget this place. I don't care what they think. As long as I can have you.”

  
He stayed like that a while, rocking himself in and out of her in tiny strokes, until they were both panting, until he had to pick up both her legs and truly press her to the wall so he could thrust hard into her. She could hear the slap of their bodies joining now, but instead of causing fear it made her proud. Let them hear the slick sound if they came too close. He was here and inside her and he loved her and she didn't care what they thought about her as long as that was still the truth -

“Ma’asha - I am close -” He groaned into her ear/

  
“Then come for me,” she said, kissing the side of his face, his shoulder, whatever she could reach.

  
“And you?”

  
This was what they would never see, would never know, what was hers alone - their truth - the fact that at that moment, he still asked -

  
“Just come for me - I want to hear you come -”

  
He thrust once, twice more. “I’m going to come now - now - you’re so tight and warm and _mine_  -”

  
The rest was a ragged sigh and some broken Elvhen but it was enough and she felt her cunt clench sweetly around him as she listened to him come undone, gasping against her ear - it was just a little spike of pleasure, nothing like when he used his hands or tongue, but she was still relaxed, more clear-headed suddenly. Fuck all of them. She would protect this world no matter what it thought of her.

  
“Good?” He asked, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

  
“Yes,” she said.

  
“You’ll have better later.”

  
“I don’t think you know how long this party is going to last. And I promised Josie I wouldn’t go sneaking around the palace.”

  
“There are other balconies.”

  
She laughed and it made her tighten around his cock, drawing one last gasp from them both before he withdrew and set her back down. Then he cradled her face in his hands, smiled softly, and kissed her forehead. They straightened up, and in the process determined that her smalls would need to be sacrificed after she used them to wipe away his spend.

  
“Remember when I used my undershirt from that stupid uniform to wipe off all the blood and ichor after we confronted Florianne? And then I threw it in a hedge and went into the ball with nothing under my jacket? Some things don’t change,” Ellana smiled.

  
“I think the groundskeeper will actually be less surprised to find your latest souvenir,” he said as he helped her climb back over the railing and onto the balcony itself. “Is this the one where we danced?”

  
“No - that one is further along the hall that way.”

  
“I will have to steal another such dance this evening.”

  
She was back in the light of the door now, but he pulled her back into the shadows and then kissed her, his lips warm and coaxing against her own.

  
“Ar lath ma,” he said. “Now go.”

  
Ellana smiled the rest of the night, no matter who was watching.  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be some kind of Solavellan fic bingo, and one of the squares should be "they have sex at the Winter Palace at a time/place when they could be caught." Guess I can cross that one off now!
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	7. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serious note: there is a brief mention of non-consensual sexual activity related to slaves in Elvhenan early on in the chapter, but it is vague. Lots of things in this chapter are vague. Which brings me to my funny note about how writing this chapter went:
> 
> Me: Alright, this chapter will probably be short and fluffy and may not even have any smut -  
> Solas: I HAVE LOTS OF VERY CONFUSING FEELINGS RIGHT NOW  
> Me: ...well, shit.
> 
> I wrote it in one night and have agonized over the title, the worldbuilding, the smut, and the characterization (so, everything) every day since then so I guess there's nothing to do but post it and let it go!

Solas did not expect their brand new home to be filled with so many ghosts.

  
He wanted Elvhenan back, it was true. He wanted it to be different than what it had been, and Ellana had convinced him that such an accomplishment would be even easier if they started from the ground up, with those willing to be part of a new nation. They now lived in the Arbor Wilds, in a newly formed Elvhen nation that was growing and changing by the day. Many things were strange: they were surrounded by a combination of the Elvhen who awoke from ancient slumbers, as Abelas and his sentinels had, and Dalish clans who arrived en masse, half whooping and hollering and the other half crying, and former slaves with haunted eyes who didn’t know what to do now that their lives were their own.

  
It was easy to feel adrift, he found, and maybe that’s where the ghosts came from. He could spend hours talking to awakened Elvhen or be spit on by one passing him on the street ( _harellan_!). He could hear an old song, well-preserved by a Dalish clan, and remember his mother. Or he could see their vallaslin and be reminded, viscerally, of Elgar’nan forcing them to kill themselves rather than allow them to be rescued by the forces of Fen’Harel.

  
At least there was Ellana - sharing a home and life with him, waking at his side with a smile on her face, endless in her determination to help build this new nation. For now, there was a council steering the course of the nation, and while it was no surprise that he had a hand in it, he was surprised that she did. As bittersweet as it was for her to resign as Inquisitor, she joked that she at least wouldn’t miss the paperwork. He never thought he'd see the day when Ellana, who came to the Inquisition scarcely able to write, who was forever more at home in a muddy wilderness than a castle, who stood before him and told him she couldn’t imagine forgiving him for what he’d done, sitting in _their_  house at a desk, answering a letter from King Alistair about a proposed trade route. Willingly.

  
“Emma lath, you haven't heard of anyone selling deathroot, have you?” She asked when he rested his hands on her shoulders.

  
“No. Although I will admit I am concerned that you are asking about it.”

  
“Well, you know. There's always someone who needs poisoning.” She tilted her head back. “It’s an ingredient in my contraceptive brew. I’m running low.”

  
“I hate the thought of you taking poison,” he said.

  
“It’s a very, very small amount. Leliana taught me carefully. I could go back to using the brew we made in my clan but this one is the most reliable.” There was something - searching in her gaze. Like she was studying his reaction.

  
“There are spells and talismans, too,” he said, carefully.

  
A silence followed, in which he could all but hear a word hanging - _or_. His heart sped up a little.

  
“We can look into it another time - read over this for me? I’m sure I still have spelling errors.”

  
And here was a new ghost amongst all of the old ones - the idea of a child. Most people assumed they were already bonded, or married, whichever they preferred, and that they would have children sooner rather than later. It was something Solas found himself considering more and more often. Even before, in Elvhenan, he’d enjoyed the company of children. They had an openness and curiosity often far lacking in their adult counterparts. But that was a far cry from wanting one of his own, something he’d never entertained in the past, when he was too focused on war and death. Ellana, for her part, said nothing on the subject, and he found himself unwilling to bring it up. She’d risked everything to save him rather than stop him, risked the legacy she’d built in the process. She’d _forgiven_  him. How could he ever ask her for more than that? If she wanted this, she would come to him someday.

  
But whenever he saw her take the brew, even after she stopped taking the one with deathroot, it left him with the same twinge he felt that day in Kirkwall months before.

  
At least most ghosts could be pushed away. For the most part, he reveled in what he could enjoy of their new life together in their home in Enasan, the name the country had been given. He reveled in the luxury of having the time, the space, to do as they pleased. Even after they’d lived together for a year he still reveled in the fact that if he happened to draw near to kiss her cheek and caught a whiff of how _good_  she smelled, musky and feminine and ripe, he could guide her to sit on the table right then and kneel in front of her and watch as she fucked herself on his fingers, two inside her and one insistently rubbing her pearl, see the wetness dripping out of her and start licking it up, hear her cry out as loud as she wanted to when she came hard against his hand. He could make it happen all over again, and then again, and no one was coming to interrupt them.

  
No one but the ghosts.

  
“Your turn,” she pleaded when he started again, burying his face against her curls and breathing her in and brushing his lips against her folds.

  
“You’re so intoxicating today, ma haurasha - how can I want anything else?”

  
She whined. “Don’t care. I want to taste you.”

  
Even through the swirl of arousal in his stomach and the memory of the times she'd done so, he felt the old wall rise. The one he’d thought already torn down. Another ghost, this one made of elves wearing vallaslin compelled to do exactly what she was offering. And maybe if he hadn’t just spoken with a group of former slaves that morning, or seen two Dalish hunters with Andruil’s vallaslin on his way home, the wall wouldn’t be there. But -

  
“Let me be inside you instead.”

  
At least he could still lose himself in her. There was nothing to fear there. Only sighs and silken heat, the way she rose to meet his every movement.

  
“Someday you’ll have to tell me why you rarely want me to take care of you that way,” she said when they were done, when he’d scooped her up and taken her to their bed. "The way you say no - I know it's not that you don't enjoy it."

  
Another new luxury. There was time now for these kinds of conversations, painful though they could be. The slow unraveling of all the mysteries she’d found in him. The gentle probing of old wounds.

  
“In Elvhenan, was common practice to send slaves to tend to your guests in such a fashion. When we first met, it was my keenest association with such acts. The - powerlessness of the person giving. The selfishness of the person receiving. You have changed that feeling for the most part, but sometimes -”

  
Her eyes were so sad, like she wanted to gather his pain in her hands and throw it away, but knew she couldn’t.

  
“That’s terrible. I understand if you’d rather I didn’t offer anymore.”

  
“Believe me, vhenan, I enjoy your generosity. Perhaps someday the memories won’t surface at all when you offer it.”

  
She kissed him then, and rose to clean herself, and without thinking he found himself tracing the little curve of her belly with his eyes, remembering how when he’d started to come every instinct in him had screamed to drive in as far as he could and hold there - an instinct that was not just about pleasure. Remembering, too, the first time Ellana had remarked on the little bump her stomach had developed during their time in the Inquisition.

  
“Must be all the shemlen food,” she said then.

  
“It’s supposed to be there,” he’d replied. “It helps a woman to bear children.”

  
“Oh,” she said. “Maybe that's why Mahanon and I did not have a child.”

  
There was a little sadness in her voice then. Mahanon had been her bondmate, chosen for her by her Keeper when she became an adult. He died six months after their bonding, and she only spoke of him rarely. It was the only time she mentioned children in his presence.

  
“What are you staring at?” She asked, drawing him back to the present.

  
“You,” he said, with all the weight he could put into the word. It meant home, happiness, life itself. “Come back to bed.”

  
When she lay against him again he considered mentioning it. This mad dream of his. That in the midst of the chaos of this new nation and these ghosts new and old, there could be new life, too. But he couldn’t find the right words for it. Not yet.

  
“I have bad news,” she said the next morning, after she finished reading a letter bearing the seal of the Divine. “Orlesian troops have been spotted marching toward the Ferelden border. Of course, both sides have called on us for our support of their cause. Cassandra wants me to help mediate the peace talks, and to hold them at Skyhold. They were suspicious of me remaining their Inquisitor, but in her words there’s still ‘no better neutral party.’”

  
“Will you go?” He asked.

  
“Of course. Though I’ll miss you terribly. Don’t forget to visit me in the Fade.”

  
“Never,” he promised.

  
It was the first time they’d been apart for any length of time since their reconciliation, and Solas found the house was too empty without her. He’d always been one for solitude, but this time it weighed on him. He stayed out longer than usual, putting in extra time organizing the massive new library that had just been built, and lost himself in painting when he was at home. Every night he visited her and heard her news about the conflict, the endless back and forth and retracing of old history between the two countries that was close to driving Ellana insane. Then, at the end of her first month away, she arrived in the Fade looking frightened.

  
“What is it?” He asked.

  
“I don’t want to worry you, but - I think I may have been poisoned.”

  
“What?” His pulse rushed and the Fade around them grew cold with his fear. Ice crept up the stone pillars of the temple where they sat.

  
“I woke up this morning feeling wretchedly ill, dragged myself to the war table and - I got sick. I couldn’t stop vomiting all day. I could barely leave my bed or eat or drink anything, but I have no fever or any other sign of illness. Leliana is looking into it, and they’re going to have someone taste my food from now on.”

  
Anger was mixing with fear now. How could anyone in Thedas lay a finger on her? Was she not the person who’d stood between all of them and disaster twice? But the fear was still winning out, fear so black the Fade around them darkened.

  
“You should return home at once when you are well. Let someone else handle this dispute. It isn’t even your fight to become involved in.”

  
“But it is, ma’len,” she said. And in spite of his fear, his heart warmed. Ellana. His protector, who would make the whole world her clan if she could.

  
“I will let you know tomorrow night if we learn anything else,” she said.

  
He passed an uneasy day the next day, teaching magic to eager apprentices but running through lists of poisons and potential enemies the entire time. Perhaps it was an enemy of their new nation using the current chaos between Orlais and Ferelden as a pretext to strike at her, perceiving her as more vulnerable in Skyhold than home in Enasan (home, home, home, he wanted her _home_ ). Enemy factions in Tevinter who were aware of her friendship with Magister Pavus _and_  her support of their slave rebellion were prime candidates. He would have to pass his suspicion along to her that night.

  
“Well?” He asked when he saw her, so hasty that he allowed the Fade to remain nebulous around them rather than spare an ounce of his attention from her.

  
“I still feel terrible, but no worse than yesterday. I just can't seem to eat anything. The healers have given me tonics meant to clear the effects of whatever it was, and our agents have found nothing damning of either side.”

  
“Tell them to consider any enemies of our state uninvolved in the current conflict - they may be using the chaos to get to you and blame it on another party. And - come _home_ , arasha. Let our healers, healers who know elven physiology tend to you.”

  
“The journey could make it worse, Solas. You know we removed the eluvians from other sovereign nations and brought them to Enasan. I’d have to return the same way I came.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “I promise, I will be fine. We’re going to figure this out.”

  
The next day Solas meditated several times, each time checking the Fade for her spirit or for any news that might have reached spirits he knew. It wasn’t until that night that he saw her again.

  
“I feel much better today,” she said. “Still weak, but whatever it was must have passed. Our inquiries caused a bit of a stir. The Fereldens are blaming the Orlesians and the Orlesians are blaming the Fereldens - it’s set us back days in the negotiations for peace.”

  
“So you still won't return.”

  
“I miss you too, vhenan,” she said. “Soon.”

  
All day the fear remained, burrowing deeper into him, raising the oldest ghost he had - the fear of dying alone. They continued to study a way to restore Elvhen immortality, but there were no guarantees they would succeed. And even if they did - Ellana would never stop rushing off into danger. Her list of enemies would only grow. Sometimes he watched her and all he could think was how fragile she was - vulnerable to disease and blade and magic and her own stubbornness and time - and how there was nothing he could do to change that.

  
But if they had a child -

  
The next day, while discussing the history of Elvhenan with a group of Dalish Keepers, he decided. He would talk to Ellana when she returned about how he felt. Nothing was guaranteed to them, least of all more time. But afterwards, tired by their long discussion of whether or not the Dalish tradition of vallaslin should continue, he decided to meditate to regain his strength - and found Ellana’s spirit there.

  
“Ellana - why are you asleep at midday?”

  
“I - was so sick again, I could hardly stand. Someone brought me back to my room and the healers made me sleep, I think.”

  
“Could it be poison again?”

  
“I’m sure they’re working that out now - maybe I should wake and ask them.”

  
Solas hesitated, torn between wanting her to wake just to prove that she could and wanting her to stay here, where he could at least watch over her. The Fade around them shifted restlessly, sometimes showing their own home and sometimes showing Skyhold, sometimes hot and sometimes cold.

  
“Rest, if that's what they say you need.”

  
He watched over her until she woke, more certain than ever that he had to tell her. He had to convince her to come home - but when he found her that night, she was the one who spoke first.

  
“I’m an idiot,” she said.

  
“I beg your pardon?”

  
“A total, colossal, idiot. I’m still amazed I haven't started a war all on my own yet, but apparently there's still time for that.”

  
“Ellana, _focus_. What has happened?”

  
“What’s going on is that I’m not poisoned. I’m not sick. I’m - with child.”

  
Solas would later swear that the entirety of the Fade went still at her words.

  
“And because for the last four years it has been far more likely that someone would try to kill me than that I would end up pregnant, I leapt to the worst conclusion, set loose spies amongst diplomatic negotiations, and then had to explain to several dignitaries _exactly_  how much of an idiot I am.”

  
“Vhenan,” he managed at last. “Say it again.”

  
She couldn’t seem to look at him. “I’m with child. Not sure how far along exactly - obviously longer than a month. I think - I think it happened because I stopped using the deathroot brew and started using my old one. That was four months ago. But I’m not showing at all so I can't be that far along. And - I know we never talked about this -”

  
She was with child. His child. And she was standing there with terror in her eyes because he had never once told her how he felt, because of his history of reactions that, from her point of view, were unpredictable at best (stupid, stupid, stupid).

  
“Ma’asha - hush.” He finally managed to focus on the Fade, on putting his hands on her cheeks, making sure she could feel it. “The only thing I regret in this moment is that when I wake up you won't be here for me to worship as you deserve.”

  
“Then - you're happy? You - want a child?”

  
Happiness actually wasn’t what he was feeling at the moment - it was awe, pure and simple. She was with child. The words repeated over and over again in his mind.

  
“I want our child. Do you?”

  
“Honestly - it was never something I dared to hope for. You know about my mother - how many she miscarried before me, how I was born early, how she never had any other children. And - if Mahanon didn't get me pregnant at sixteen, and none of my other lovers did when I wasn't being careful - how could it happen now? And who knows if the Anchor affects anything or if there's any real difference between Elvhen and my people and -”

  
She had broken free of his grasp and started pacing. He had to draw her back again.

  
“Peace, emma lath. What you need now is more rest, not more worry. When will you be able to return?”

  
“I truly don’t know. The healer said I could feel this sick for weeks, and the child is at the most risk so early on. And Orlais and Ferelden are still at each other’s throats. But - soon, I hope. If I feel well I may excuse myself from the talks. See if Cassandra can come instead.”

  
“Please try.”

  
They sat in silence for a while after that. Unable to resist, Solas shifted the dream so that they were in their bed at home, and he could hold her close and rest his hands low on her stomach.

  
“I’m happy,” she said, late in the night. They were tentative words.

  
“As am I,” he replied.

  
*

  
It was another month before she returned to Enasan. A month in which she remained more or less sick all the time, so that when she did arrive home - when he picked her instantly out of her retinue, just by the way she moved, when he Fade stepped to her side and took hold of her hand - she actually looked a little thinner than before.

  
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him immediately once they returned home. “The worst of it has passed, the midwife assured me. I’ll gain it all back and then some as my appetite returns.”

  
“That is reassuring. Apparently your case is severe but not unheard of,” he said. “Have you tried mint? I got some this morning. You can chew it, or drink it in tea -”

  
“How many books did you read?” She asked. She was staring at their desk - which was, admittedly, piled high with the tomes he had bought and borrowed in her absence.

  
“I didn't know much about pregnancy or childbirth - it seemed prudent.” He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I am sure there is reading you must do, too.”

  
She was laughing, a sweet, loving sound, but one that still made him flush more. “Vhenan, the women in my clan had child after child without reading a single book for generations untold. But I do so love you.”

  
She kissed him and he’d so dearly missed how full and soft her lips were, the way her breath caught when he opened his mouth and got her to follow suit, how she would lean into him and trust him to hold her. He smoothed his hands down her back, over her rump, and for a moment just appreciated that she was home. When the kiss ended, she sighed and leaned her forehead against his.

  
“As much as I would love to make love to you - I don’t even think I have enough energy for the bath I so sorely need.”

“Of course. Let me undress you?”

  
She smiled, nodded, and began lazily helping him find the buckles on her armor. He loved touching her, even (sometimes especially) when it would not lead to sex. There was something so inherently soothing about skin against skin - his fingertips finding her ribs, his palms against her shoulders - each touch slowed his heartbeat, untangled knots he didn't even know he had. And this time it was even better - taking off each piece, looking for little changes in her body that would confirm what she’d said. At last he unwound her breast band and all that was left was her smalls. His trailed his hand down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, then got to the curve of one breast and raised his eyebrows.

  
“Go ahead,” she said. “They’ve gotten a little sensitive, but it's nothing terrible.”

  
He palmed them gently, tested their small weight in his hands. No change here, yet. So his hands continued downward, to the lower part of her stomach, and sure enough, there was a little mound there now. A small, sloped promise that made his heart sing.

  
“Vhenan -” He began, but he couldn’t manage anything else. She put her hand over his and pressed gently.

  
“Leliana did some old trick before I left,” she said. “Dangled a ring over my stomach. She said by the way it swung that it's a girl. Will you be able to tell with magic?”

  
“I think so,” he said. “In time.” His skin prickled at the thought. It would not matter either way, but to know their child, in any small way -

  
“It would be strange to know. It’s all still strange. Strange and wonderful. I - I never dared to hope for this. I never even dared to ask you what you thought. I’m still half afraid to be happy about it.”

  
“I know the feeling,” he said. “Now, come. To bed.”

  
For once, he almost didn't want to slip into the Fade. He wanted to lie at her side and keep watching her, keep touching her. Keep wondering how he could possibly deserve this. But eventually he fell asleep too, and she must have been truly exhausted, because she was still sound asleep when he woke. He lingered at her side a while, and when he could tell she was beginning to wake, went to make her the mint tea he’d mentioned the day before. When he returned, she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  
“On dhea,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  
“Fine. Only a little sick. Is that tea?”

  
“Indeed.”

  
“Thank you, sa’lath. I hope it helps. Could you bring me something to eat, too? Something small, just a piece of bread. It helps.”

  
“Of course.”

  
She sat up to drink the tea and eat, but afterwards sank back down among the covers, and Solas joined her, fitting his body close to hers as she lay on her side. And, of course, because they’d gone to sleep in only their smalls, and because it was morning, and because he’d missed her so, he was starting to get hard. He sighed and shifted away, irritated with his body. She was tired, probably still feeling sick, because she was carrying _his_  child. He didn't want her to -

  
“Come back,” she said. “Let me feel you.”

  
“I am sorry -” But she was already rolling over and reaching down between them, running her palm down his length.

  
“I missed you. I still feel a little dizzy, but we can just do this.”

  
“That’s hardly fair. You are the one who deserves to be cared for now.”

  
“Solas,” she said. “Look at me. You deserve to be cared for, too. Always.” She let the words hang in the air a moment and his chest grew tight as he took them in. “While I was away, I was still thinking about what you told me. About why you don't usually want me to focus on your pleasure alone. Maybe - don't see it as having power over me. See it as surrendering to me. Besides,” she smiled his favorite, wicked smile, pressed her palm harder against his cock. “There will be plenty of times when it's too difficult for us to do what we’re used to in bed, the bigger I get. I don't want you to go all that time so unsatisfied.”

  
“When I think of you carrying my child, the last thing I think of is being unsatisfied,” he said softly.

  
“Good. Now let me care for you, my love.”

  
She palmed his length twice more, until he relaxed, his breath already growing shorter, and then she shifted around until she was supported comfortably by her left arm, and slid her hand inside his smalls.

  
“Oh, vhenan,” she murmured when she took hold of him. “Have I told you lately how much I love your cock? You’re so hard, so thick. I missed holding you in my hand like this. Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

  
His heart was pounding. He didn't trust himself to speak around the swirl of things he was feeling - desire, happiness, love, anticipation - so he just nodded.

  
“Show me how.”

  
He flushed. This was not something they had done before, oddly. “Let me get the oil.”

  
She quirked her eyebrows at him and smiled, but let go of him so he could roll over and find it. He warmed it between his hands and then pushed back the covers so she could see as he took himself in hand stroked up and down, slow and sure, all the way until he was gripping his head and squeezing, then slowly pulling it down, pulling away the foreskin. His heart was already starting to pound and his breath was coming shorter at the sensation.

  
“You’re so perfect,” she said just as his hand started to pump faster. “Now let me.”

  
She mimicked his motion, going from root to tip slowly but surely again and again, squeezing his head gently until he groaned at the way it sent pleasure skittering through his abdomen. She picked up the pace slowly, so slowly he almost didn't notice, until her hand was moving quickly enough that he could hear skin moving on skin and he was hardening further, getting larger in her hand. But even better than her touching his cock was the sounds she made as she did, the words she whispered in his ear in between the kisses she planted on his lips.

  
“Look at you. I can’t wait to make you come like this. Is this good?”

  
“Yes -” It came choked out as she ran her thumb over his slit, first in slow circles and then in firmer ones, until he was groaning and pushing his hips up toward her. His release was already starting to gather, coiling around his balls and his base, dripping out of him. He felt desperately at her mercy - in her care - so ready to let her unspool the worry that had been coiled tight in him since she left.

  
“Are you close, ma haurasha?” He nodded. “Roll back on your side then.”

  
He did, and she put a leg over his hips to draw him nearer to her, and gripped him tight. His cock’s head was against her stomach now and he couldn’t help but rock forward so he could feel it slide against her soft skin. It made his whole length pulse and grow tight and he groaned, and did it again.

  
“Yes,” she said. “Like that, love. Come for me.”

  
So he kept rocking, and she tightened her grip on him so that with every movement he made the skin of his cock slid over the sensitive flesh underneath and he was hard, so hard, and her hand was slippery and warm from the oil and her belly was soft and filled with his child and he rutted and rutted against her until he was coming coming coming, hot and wet on her and on himself, long spasms that pulled every muscle in his body tight. Then he was limp against her, and she kissed his forehead.

  
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Thank you for letting me care for you.”

  
It hit him for the first time, then, through the haze of the afterglow, after he cleaned them both off and lay there with his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. She was going to be a mother. And she would be so good at it. And him? Who had thousands of years of memories, and the scars that came with them? Who struggled even with things as simple as her touch on his body? Which unexpected scars would they find now? What kind of father would he make?

  
“Come back to me,” she said. He must have looked far away. “Let’s just stay here a while.”

  
They lay close together for a while, and although she was warm and relaxed against him, Solas couldn’t shake the cold in the pit of his stomach. It had been one thing to imagine this in the abstract, but in reality -

  
“So I’ve been thinking about names,” she said. “What do you think of Theodosia if it does turn out to be a girl?”

  
The look she leveled him with was so earnest that for a moment it paralyzed him. Could she be serious? But then she started laughing, clear and bright and melodious, like a river in the sun.

  
“You should see the look on your face!”

  
He couldn’t help but join in her laughter, even if his was softer, even if he could only pretend there was no lingering darkness in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo there we are! Plot stuff coming up in the next one. It tried to sneak into this one but there was no space. I am going to go hide in a corner now.
> 
> Two tidbits, for anyone who is curious:  
> Enasan - joined together from Enasal ("joy after loss") and "san" (place), so "place of joy after loss."  
> Ellana's joke about naming their child Theodosia is not just another "Hamilton" reference - there was actually a Divine named Theodosia in the DA universe! Once I found that out I couldn't resist.
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	8. Belly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pregnant smut ahead in this chapter! (I had to do some research on what that's like. I half hope my husband sees the search history!)
> 
> Credit goes, as always, to FenxShiral for the Elvhen names used for characters and places in this chapter - where would we be without their marvelousness?

Ellana’s first nightmare about the child happened not long after it quickened in her womb. That she had a nightmare wasn’t unusual. Solas did not come to her every night in the Fade, and on occasion that left her prey to images of the future she’d seen at Redcliffe, or dead Inquisition soldiers at Adamant, or Corypheus holding her over an abyss, or Solas himself, in golden armor, sneering, tearing the Veil asunder. What made this one unusual was that she sat bolt upright in bed, panting, panicking, knew it was something about the baby - but nothing else.

  
“Is everything alright?” Solas’s hand was on her back, rubbing a gentle, sleepy circle. She swore he slept more lightly now. Every time she woke in the night, he was awake too. She asked him about it once, but he shrugged it off.

  
“I - yes. I had a nightmare,” she said at last.

  
“What happened in it?”

  
“I don’t know - something about the baby.”

  
Her hand was already on her stomach. It swelled out enough now that you could see it if her clothes were tight (and most of them were at this point). She could already tell that her center of gravity had shifted a little to accommodate it, causing a hundred tiny adjustments when she did her daily stretches and maneuvers, a habit she refused to let die even in peacetime. And just that day, she’d felt it - a fluttering inside her that stopped her dead in her tracks. _Hello there._ It hadn’t happened again since then, to Solas’s disappointment. She was convinced he wouldn’t have been able to feel it anyway, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

  
She felt nothing now as she ran her hand over the firm brown skin. Maybe the baby slept when she did. She wondered if it dreamed, too, and what it dreamed of. Solas’s hand joined hers.

  
“It will be fine, vhenan.”

  
“But -” And now the dream rushed in on her all at once - not image, but sound, the hungry screams of a baby. Then the feeling of her one good arm, hanging slack at her side. Her breasts, aching. Her breath drew short as she pieced it together. Her missing arm. “How will I hold the baby, Solas? How will I feed it?”

  
He sat up now, and pulled her close to him, so he could put one arm around her shoulders. His hand rubbed a slow, soothing circle on her stomach.

  
“We will find a way. We will go to the midwife today if it will ease your mind.”

  
“No - we have enough to do. It can wait until next week.” She was already running through the list in her mind. Meet with ambassadors. Go over latest reports on the new settlements further west. Inspect whatever it was the scouts had found in a newly uncovered ruin.

  
She was still running through it when he leaned in and kissed her cheek, and then her earlobe, and then her neck.

  
“Back to sleep,” he commanded quietly.

  
Ellana knew he wouldn't lie down until she did, so she complied, sliding down until she was on her back. Solas followed her, sliding a leg over hers and an arm over her waist, as best he could. It wasn’t long before his breathing evened out again, and she knew he’d left her for the Fade. She remained awake, though, her hand still on her stomach, still hoping for another flutter. She would never forget that moment today, just as she knew she’d never forget the moment she realized she was with child. Well, the moment Leliana realized it.

  
“Is it possible that we’re all missing something rather obvious?” She said in that coy Orlesian way she had. Ellana, for her part, was in no mood for coyness. Three solid days of throwing up and listening to spies’ reports had that effect.

  
“It may be obvious to you, but it isn't to me.”

  
“When did you last have your monthly courses?”

  
“I don’t know. Certainly before I came back to Skyhold.”

  
“And I take it that you and your beloved still enjoy each other intimately?”

  
“Of course we -”

  
Leliana still spelled it out, and the former spymaster still insisted on making some sort of potion that would react with Ellana’s urine, of all things (where on _earth_  did humans get these ideas?). But it was at that moment, when Ellana’s own words failed her, that she knew. And was promptly terrified.

  
Of course she’d lived her entire life assuming she’d have children - her entire life until the Conclave, the Anchor, and the Inquisition. Until Solas. Most mornings she woke at his side in Enasan still amazed to breathe in the smell of his skin. Anything more than that? Well. It would be nice, but she wasn't about to push her luck. Solas had set aside his life’s goal, the world he knew, his own monumental guilt in large part for her - and he’d found that hard enough. He’d lived a long, isolating life. And there were days she watched him, staring at a blank wall in their home and imagining a mural, or lost in thought after a long meeting with the council, or practicing with his staff to commune with the energy of the Fade, and thought - _can I ever actually know this man? Are there really no secrets left?_

  
It was no situation to bring a child into, but there she was: heaving into a bucket every hour, dizzy with hunger but unable to eat. Pregnant. And then she told him, in the most rushed, idiotic way possible. And all that was on his face was light.

  
Solas. The solitary apostate. The fierce rebel. The guilt-wracked Elvhen. He wanted to be a father.

  
And it was a beautiful thing to watch. It had been two months since she returned from Skyhold, two months in which the sickness went away and he watched her every day, eyes full of wonder, like this was the first child that had ever grown in a woman’s belly. He was always an affectionate man, fond of running a hand from the nape of her neck all the way to the swell of her rump as he passed by her, or putting a hand on her hip when they stood side by side in the market. But now that she was carrying his child? There were times when she was convinced he had cast some kind of spell to ensure they were never further than a foot apart. Even now as she lay awake in their bed, he shifted in his sleep to draw closer to her. She smiled at that, and kissed his nose just to watch him wrinkle it and sigh. This - them - was not what she thought would happen. She could still hear the screaming dream-child in her mind. But he was at her side. It would all be fine in the end.

  
*

  
Slings. That was the answer to her nightmare. Mitha, their midwife, had wanted to wait to fit Ellana for one until later on, but she agreed to do it early, to assuage her fears. Then she did her customary measuring and palpitating of Ellana’s belly.

  
“I’d say for certain that you have four more months to go, if it wasn't for your mate,” she said with an annoyed sigh when she was done. She was Dalish, and marked for Sylaise. Ellana never failed to feel more at ease about things around her.

  
“Meaning?” Solas narrowed his eyes. He found her less soothing.

  
“Meaning you’re bigger than most, hahren. The child may well reflect that, and she may have closer to five months to go. The truth is that babes come on their own time, not ours - but it's still good to have an idea.”

  
Solas looked like he wanted to argue, though why she couldn’t fathom. Once or twice before he’d insisted that she was wrong about something, based on his studies (he was emphatic that she could _not_ , in fact, continue drinking wine, whatever Mitha said), but in this case the midwife was right: Solas was different than other elven men. Their child would be different.

  
They were on their way home when Solas touched her arm, bringing her to a stop at one of the many crossroads in the growing city.

  
“I promised to meet with Misyl in the library. Are you comfortable walking alone from here?”

  
Odd. He hadn’t mentioned it before. Misyl was one of his agents, for lack of a better term. “Of course. I will see you later, vhenan.”

  
He kissed her, sweet and slow, and went on his way.

  
It was strange, ambling home along roads that had not been there six months ago, surrounded by Elvhen and Trade in equal measure, broken by Antivan and Tevene. Smiling at those she knew, and nodding in acknowledgement to those who simply recognized her. Life in their new country was not easy, as she’d had a front row seat to witness. The elves were no longer one people. They were Dalish and they were from alienages in Orlais and Ferelden and Nevarra and Antiva alike - they were Andrastian and they swore by Mythal - they wanted to isolate themselves from all others in Thedas and they feared what that isolation could mean. But piece by piece, conflict by conflict, they would find a way forward. Of that, Ellana was certain.

  
Of course, she missed her friends dearly. It was the worst thing about finally leaving the Inquisition, she found. No more Cassandra or Leliana or Cullen. Bull and the Chargers had no reason to come so far south, nor did Thom Rainier. Varric remained in Kirkwall and Sera swore she would never set foot in Enasan. Dorian was far away in Tevinter, wrapped up in political intrigue of his own. He was the only one she would see soon, judging by his reaction when they spoke via the crystal.

  
“You really ought to come for my birthday, my dear. It’s going to be splendid this year.”

  
“When is your birthday again?”

  
“You don’t know it by heart? You heartless creature. It’s in Drakonis.”

  
“I can't possibly come. I’ll probably be so huge then I can hardly move, let alone get to Tevinter.”

  
“Come again?”

  
“You know. Huge and pregnant.”

  
A deafening silence followed.

  
“You’re serious?”

  
“Of course I am.”

  
“And you’re excited?”

  
“ _Yes_ , Dorian.”

  
“Oh, Ellana.” The honest, heartbreaking joy in his voice was evident even through the crystal. Tears pricked her eyes, though she’d never let him know that. “Well, I will simply have to come to you. After all, I’ll need to meet little Dorian. Or Doriana.”

  
“Really? Doriana?”

  
“You’re right - Adora would be better for a girl.”

  
It wasn’t a half bad name. Solas disapproved, of course.

  
“The name needs to have a meaning of some kind, beyond the ego of some Tevinter magister.”

  
“I’m telling him you referred to him as such. Did your parents know you were going to be so proud when they named you?”

  
“That’s not what they meant by it,” he said quietly. “They meant ‘pride’ as in ‘my pride and joy.’ I, like you, was their only child.”

  
And he met her gaze, blue-eyed and sad and hopeful, and her heart broke with how lovely he was, how lucky they both were.

  
*

  
Another month passed, and the baby started to kick and move in earnest, though never predictably, of course. Solas still hadn’t managed to catch it.

  
“Ma da’len, be kind to Papae,” she said scoldingly when he sighed and dropped his hand away after waiting for his chance. He blushed right across those fine cheekbones, across those freckles, at the word. She couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

  
“Don’t tell me - Papae had a different meaning in Arlathan? Is the child to call you hahren, or by your own name?”

  
“It is none of those things. I - have never even thought of myself as such. It's strange to know I will be called Papae.” He still looked flustered as he rose from the couch.

  
“Oh, sa’lath - I didn't mean to make you feel badly.” She rose from the couch with more difficulty than she would have liked. She stood in the mirror every morning and admired the roundness of her stomach, which seemed to grow every day now, but it was slowly but surely getting hard to move.

  
“Don’t trouble yourself. I should leave - it is time to meet Misyl about the unrest the Dinlaselan are causing in Oruvun.”

  
The only thing leaving a knot in her chest lately. The Dinlaselan were a growing force in the west, a province recently named Oruvun. They’d taken a name that hinted at rebellion, and demanded that the new province (if not the whole country) focus a more pure return to the ways of Elvhenan. They were nothing major, yet, but still a source of concern.

  
“I still don't see why I can’t come,” she said. “I don’t really have _that_  many letters to write.”

  
“Is the concept of rest still so foreign to you?”

  
She rolled her eyes. It was a frustrating topic of conversation between them. He was wise enough not to be too overt about it, knowing her as he did. But he still tried to convince her to sit down instead of pacing, to wait at home while he went to the market, to go to bed early while he stayed up. He’d even pointed out that it wasn’t a bad time to give some of her duties on the council to someone else, whoever would temporarily take her place when the child was born.

  
She’d fought him tooth and nail on it at first, insisting that if she was still part of a Dalish clan that she wouldn’t stop being useful until she was literally too heavy with child to move much, but one day the fight had gotten truly heated (“In Arlathan, you’d be waited on hand and foot, kept flush with mana, given whatever you desired, relieved of all responsibility except that of bringing another of the People into this world. Clearly you won’t let me do that for you, but I hardly find it unreasonable to expect that you let me keep you safe!”). She knew better than to push, now. Didn’t mean she couldn’t tease.

  
“I’m going to rearrange the baby's furniture again for that.”

  
“If the midwife is right and you still have four months to go, I am truly concerned to see how many configurations you will dream up. Leave it be.”

  
“Fine - I will see you tonight.” They kissed, and he left.

  
The truth was that she couldn’t fathom the idea of a nursery - a childhood with a cradle and walls. Of course their child would sleep with them, know the sound of both their heartbeats, have nothing to fear of darkness or nightmares. She still hadn’t quite accepted that the baby would play here, on the Antivan rug Josie sent, and not in seemingly endless forests.

  
Maybe that was why she had the second nightmare. This one was imprinted on her eyelids when she woke. A forest in darkness, with gleaming eyes in the distance. The baby, clutched close against her breast, whimpering. Wolves howling. And the bone-deep knowledge that she was lost and alone, that she'd woken up and the clan had moved on without them, and she couldn’t track the aravels somehow, and she’d lost her bow -

  
This time when she woke, Solas was not in their bed. It was a strange enough occurrence that she rose and went looking for him. He was standing in the main room, mage light in one hand, and a parchment in the other. He was still clad for sleep, just close fitting leggings, and the light played across the planes of his chest.

  
“Solas?” She called. He looked up, startled.

  
“Ir abelas - I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

  
“It wasn’t you. I had a nightmare.”

  
His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step, like he wanted to come towards her, and then he paused.

  
“I will only be a moment, vhenan. You should lie back down.”

  
Odd.

  
She went back to their bedroom, but the nightmare would not leave her. She was not alone. She had nothing to fear. But the pain in her chest still didn't ease, not even when he returned.

  
“What was your nightmare?” He asked.

  
“I was alone in a forest - lost. Just me and the baby. There were wolves all around.”

  
“Something that will never happen.” He kissed her forehead, and remained leaning against it. “Do you think there’s a reason you dreamt of it?”

  
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a dream about my clan in a long time.”

  
“Don’t dwell on it now. Let me help you fall back asleep.”

  
She lay down on her side (the one the midwife said was fine - how were there so many rules?) and he began with soft touches along her spine, just the tips of his fingers, warmed by magic. Soon he was massaging the back of her neck, and then her shoulders, and then her arms. And Ellana was relaxing, to be sure, but instead of finding sleep, she found herself unconsciously rubbing her legs together. Gods, she was wet, she realized. Very wet. The suddenness of her desire for him surprised her, until she thought back to the things her clan sisters said about laying with their mates when they were with child. She’d wondered if maybe her body didn’t react the same way.

  
“Ma haurasha,” she said quietly, when his hands drifted to her hips. She leaned back, felt him half-hard against her.

  
“Yes?” he replied, calmly, like she’d asked him for salt at dinner. But he pressed his hips gently forward.

  
“I don’t think you’re helping me sleep.”

  
“Ir abelas,” he said, sliding one hand along the generous curve of her belly until it was resting over her mound. “Is there something I can do?”

  
“You could stop teasing,” she said, rocking her hips forward so his hand slipped and hit her where she ached. A spark ran through her.

  
“Sit up, then,” he said. “I want to feel all of you. It has been some time.”

  
She realized with a start that it had been. At least two weeks - no, three. They had been so busy - so focused on their hundred public duties and on preparing their home -

  
Well, this was just inexcusable. Now she needed him even more than before. It wasn’t just the arousal, though. The nightmare lingered in the back of her mind. She needed it erased.

  
She sat up and watched as he rose and stripped off his leggings, his cock springing free, already rosy and hard, and another spark hit her. He propped up a pillow and then spread his legs and gestured for her. She half wanted to bend down and pull back the roll of skin that still hid his head and start sucking on him at the sight, but she was already so unbearably wet. She settled between his legs, her back to him, and he helped her out of her loose shift. He skimmed his hands along her body. True to his promise, he did not tease.

  
“Ma’asha.” He all but growled the word when his fingers finally reached her folds - good, good, so good, even that little touch was sending fire into her cunt. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet or this tender. You’re so swollen.”

  
He ran one finger around each of her lips. She could feel it too as he outlined them - everything was thicker, trembling at even his light touches.

  
“Please,” she begged.

  
And he obliged. His finger moved back up to the sensitive bud at the top of her folds and a second joined it and he began rubbing, rubbing, and the angle caused by her belly made him push harder than usual and she was already keening, feeling her cunt pulse. She could _hear_  each stroke of his fingers, a wet obscene sound, and she was already so close to falling over the edge, but she was wild with need for everything, all of him.

  
“Inside me - I need -”

  
“Lean forward.” She did so, carefully balancing on her one good arm, and he shifted downward a little on the bed after throwing another pillow behind him, and then guided her to where he wanted her. She was still leaning forward enough that he could take hold of himself and press his cock was pressed against her slit, drag it up and down several times, moaning. “Now lean back. Take all of me.”

  
She leaned back onto his cock and he slid straight in, filled her wholly, and then his hand returned to where it was before. She was shaking already, knew she didn't need much, didn't even know how to ask for it, but he seemed to know. He pinched her bud, and rolled it over and over between his fingers, and that was enough to make her come hard, cunt tight around his cock, but the feeling didn’t stop there - it spiralled outward through her whole body, wave after wave, a bigger wave than ever before, white hot inside her and around her belly, she couldn’t even think straight as they crested...

  
When she was aware of herself again, he was still in her, still hard, but he was just gently caressing her sides.

  
“Amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen you so undone.”

  
She couldn’t do much more than make a noise in return. She still felt loose, liquid, and heavy all at once. Solas, for his part, seemed content to leave her so, keeping to gentle, intimate touches rather than sexual ones. It wasn’t until Ellana gave an experimental swirl of her hips, one that dragged every inch of him along every inch of her, that he hissed and palmed both of her breasts.

  
“It felt different than before,” she managed at last. “Bigger.”

  
“You feel different,” he said, squeezing her breasts again, making her groan and grind against him. She started to move up and down on him, slowly, and she was aware again of how she was heavier, how she slid down on his cock so much more easily as a result. He groaned in return and touched her restlessly, rubbing her breasts, her sides, her burgeoning stomach. Sweet fire was building in her again, but she couldn’t chase it fast enough the way they were, no matter how much she rocked or writhed or rode him.

  
“Let’s turn you around,” he said. He helped her off of him, and both of them sighed at the pleasure of him pulling out, slowly, so slowly she could hear it. Then he slid down the bed, and she followed, turning around so she was facing him, and his cock was already wet when she took him in hand and guided him back in. Fuck, it was so good feeling him push her back open that her breath caught and her cunt clenched once, twice around him.

  
“Did you just come again, ma’asha?” Solas asked, a little more breathless than before, reaching down to feel through her folds and press on that little bud and all she could do was rock back and forth and whimper at how hard he was inside her and how good his finger was on her sex.

  
“Fenedhis,” he ground out. His other hand was on her stomach again, trailing up to her breast, down her arm. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are. I’m going to make you come again and again tonight, emma lath. We should have done this sooner.”

  
And the sob that escaped her at his words was only partially because she was coming again already, little pulses that made him hiss and grasp her hips. She knew what he meant, because his hand had ended just above her navel. She had to feel him move inside her now. She had to move up and down, faster and faster, and watch the way he threw his head back and bit his lip and tried not to cry out and then pulled himself back from the brink and met her eyes again.

  
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice ragged. She nodded, and he took true hold of her hips and now he was helping her move, lifting her and pulling her back down with more speed, more force than ever before, the muscles in his arms and chest tensing, his hips flexing up to meet her. She was babbling to him, begging for more, as if she wasn't already slick all over, as if there wasn’t already a tight ball of pleasure so deep in her she almost feared to let it burst.

  
She remembered, suddenly, the first night they spent together. Him under her like this, desperation in his eyes, and wonder, too. The way he tried to hold back, but couldn't. The ecstasy and worry twined in her chest - _he didn't say no to this!_  balanced against _why is he so afraid?_  And now here they were. The heartache behind them. In their home, in their new nation, their child safe inside her. That thought was what pushed her over, made her cry out and scratch his chest as she tried to hold on through the shaking and clenching and releasing radiating all over her - from the pearl he was suddenly stroking frantically to the tips of her toes everything ached in the sweetest way for what felt like an eternity. Then he sent waves of warmth along her skin and his fingers buzzed with electricity and he did it again, and ecstasy flooded her with one long, low groan like a prayer.

  
When she opened her eyes Solas was flushed, his eyes dark. He was back to moving her up and down, and more of her slick was dripping out of her with each thrust. He looked like he wanted to say something but all that escaped him was “oh” in that beautiful, strangled way that meant he was too far gone. Then he threw his head back and pulled her hard down on his cock and she ground down in that circle again as he cried out and spent inside her in thick pulses.

  
“Ar lath ma,” he breathed out. She smiled, and tried to lean forward and kiss him - but found her stomach in the way. He laughed, and rested his hand there, and spoke again. “Ar lath ma, da’len.”

  
How could she care about anything but those words, but lying at his side, waiting patiently to see if the baby would move or kick hard enough for him to feel?

  
“Let me try something,” he said. His eyes flashed blue and magic tingled through her, a cool sensation like when he healed her. And there it was - a hard kick against the spot where his palm rested. Solas sucked in his breath.

  
“Hello,” he said quietly, and rested his head against the spot. He lingered there, her hand on the back of his neck. She was half asleep when she heard him say something low and sad.

  
“What, love?” She murmured.

  
“Nothing. Sleep, arasha.”

  
It wasn’t until morning, when she was deliciously sore but alone, that she remembered her nightmare, or that he’d never told her what he was reading.

  
“It was just about the ruins they uncovered. A small artifact they wanted my opinion on,” he assured her. “Nothing more.”

  
She still thought back to that night in the days that followed. But he’d given her an answer. There was no reason to push. She would choose trust.

  
*

  
The unrest in the west settled over the next two months. That was good. She was about eight months along, as far as they could tell. It was time to focus. Debate about names. Practice breathing. It would not be long now, and the more the midwife poked and prodded Ellana (a process which also involved actually checking inside of her now - unpleasant to say the least) the more she thought Drakonis would be the month after all.

  
“It’ll be a big babe, da’len, by our people’s standards,” she told Ellana. “Don’t stop doing the exercises I told you.”

  
Solas never failed to look guilty at that. He spent a lot of time looking guilty, though Ellana swore she still felt fine. Considerably less graceful than the woman who used to sidle up to him in Haven, but fine.

  
“Nonsense,” he said when she mentioned it. “I am as transfixed by you now as I was then. More so, even.”

  
“Sweet talker.”

  
There were gifts to unpack, sent from friends near and far. Thom sent a carved rocking horse, Leliana a stuffed nug, Josie unimaginably soft blankets and swaddling clothes. Dorian and Bull’s was best, though. They were coming to visit.

  
“The Imperium won't fall apart for one month. Though I must say I will be terribly cross if you manage to have the child before we arrive.”

  
“So much pressure!”

  
“I am also offering bonus points if you hold out and make sure he's born exactly on my birthday. I’ll make him my heir.”

  
“The poor thing is already the child of the Dread Wolf and the supposed Herald of Andraste. Let’s not heap on too many legacies, shall we?”

  
It was something that came up more now - from acquaintances, other council members, strangers on the street who knew her identity. It made her nervous. Poor thing. So small, so fragile - and already so much expectation. Would they be a Dreamer? Wield as much power as their father? Live longer than their mother? She even had to guard against it with Solas, who sat one day at her side, watching the child's restless movements through her too-tight skin.

  
“I wonder which magic they will be drawn to,” he said. She twinged a little at that.

  
“They may not be a mage. It doesn’t seem to run in my family. It’s always a possibility.”

  
“They will be a mage,” he replied, softly.

  
“Can you tell?” Her heart sped up a little. Even though her every day was shaped by the little one - the kicks and cravings and worries and joys - so much was still a mystery. They’d decided not to see if he could tell the child’s sex - it was just one more expectation, and an unnecessary one - but could he sense this?

  
“No. Call it intuition.”

  
She didn’t have the heart to disagree with him a second time. He was worried, more often than not, about the child. About what kind of father he’d be. He didn't say it, but she could see it in the way he furrowed his brow, the spirits he consulted, the books he read. He was always measuring himself up, one way or another, and finding himself wanting. But magic, he knew. So let him believe, for now, that it was a sure thing.

  
For her part, she didn't worry much about being a mother. Growing up in a Dalish clan meant she’d always been around children and babies - this one would simply be hers. That is, until she was sitting up late one night, waiting for Solas to come home, and she realized how still the house was. How empty. And she thought back to her dream - all alone in the forest, no one to turn to. She had no clan now. Even her adopted clan, her friends, were scattered to the winds. Who would she turn to when she needed help, when she needed rest? Who would her child turn to? It was very late by the time Solas did return, and then the fear was real, solid, in her chest.

  
“I am sorry to return so late. I have to - what's the matter?”

  
“I just - we’re just - it’s just us. And we have so many other responsibilities. Sometimes you’ll have to go and it’ll just be me and the baby. No grandparents, no aunts or uncles or cousins or - and there are still so many things I can't do with just one hand -” She was crying before she could stop herself, so suddenly it embarrassed her, and made her cover her face. He held her as close as he could around her belly and murmured endearments in her ear, and inside her the child kicked and stretched, so real, so close to being here.

  
“I know it’s frightening, my heart. We’re always going to find a way to make it work. Remind me again when Dorian and Bull will arrive?” He asked when she’d quieted.

  
“Not for a while. Why do you ask?”

  
He said nothing for a moment, simply continuing the slow circle he traced on her back. “I was just curious. Come. What would make you feel better?”

  
“I don’t need anything. It was a stupid outburst.”

  
“Nonsense. There is nothing stupid about what you feel. Shall I read to you until you fall asleep?”

  
It was easier said than done. There was no way to lie down that was comfortable now, and she kept drifting in and out to the sound of softly spoken Elvhen. But eventually she dropped away, and dreamt of holding their child’s hand at last, and of Solas’s laugh - a sound she hadn't heard in days.

  
*

  
Drakonis arrived, and Ellana was huge and tired and ready to meet their child. She took walks every day, practiced the stretches Mitha assigned her, tried to learn how to fold the impossibly tiny clothes with one hand, but mostly she waited. Waited for Solas to come home each day, though the hour seemed to grow later all the time. Until one day when he came home in the middle of the day, his mouth set in a hard line.

  
“I need to leave. Today. For Oruvun.”

  
“What?” Ellana’s heart was in her throat. “What for?"

  
Solas took a breath. Looked down. Then met her eyes. “An orb. Like my orb.”

  
No. No, no, no.

  
“Whose?”

  
“Falon'din's, we believe. Two weeks ago I sent agents there to try and answer that very question. Now agents of Dinlaselan have been spotted in the vicinity and it is critical that we secure it.”

  
“Two weeks ago…?” When he came home late. When he was about to tell her something and she was crying like an idiot about how they had no one to help them. An orb. They’d need to decide what to do about it. It couldn’t just - sit there. But the amount of power it could unlock would threaten every nation near them, if not every nation in Thedas -

  
“Shit,” she said at last. “What will we do?”

  
“That is not a question for today.”

  
Something clicked into place. It was a line she’d heard before over the last few months. On late nights. After reading letters. Something she’d gotten answers for, for the most part. But when she went back over the answers -

  
“You knew,” she said.

  
“I suspected,” he countered.

  
“How long?”

  
“Two months.”

  
“And you said nothing?” Or he’d said everything - he hadn’t been sleeping well, and he’d been staying late in the library or consulting with other Elvhen he trusted, and she’d hoped - believed - it meant nothing. Hoped it was just natural nervousness over their child.

  
“It seemed pointless to worry you over a suspicion neither of us could act on any more than I already was. Certainly not now.” He closed the distance between them and laid his hand on her stomach. “I do not want to leave you both. I wish we’d found it any other time.”

  
“Found it - were you looking for it? Why? Why on earth would you need another orb?” Her pulse was racing now.

  
“I - perhaps this is not the time.”

  
Her hand was in a fist before she realized it.

  
“You’re right. This isn’t the time. It isn’t the time for you to be actively searching for dangerous artifacts for who knows what fucking reason. Or for lying, or for leaving, or for -”

  
The baby shifted suddenly. She was shouting. How did that sound from the inside? Could the little one feel the tense muscles, the rage, the hurt? She took one deep breath. _Ir abelas, da’len_ , she thought, as if they could hear. She’d stepped back from Solas at some point. He took that moment to close the distance.

  
“I promise I can explain this, and I will. It isn’t what you think. I’m not going to tear down the Veil - not exactly. But time is of the utmost importance now. It cannot fall into the wrong hands. Surely you -”

  
She held up her hand, rather than speak or look at him.

  
“Just - go. And come back. We’ll be here. Go to Mitha before you leave and have her come and stay here in case anything happens.”

  
“Ellana…”

  
She looked at him then, and for the first time saw a face she hadn't seen in years. The desperation, the pain - the way he’d looked at her before saying he would never forget her. Before leaving her. Whatever this was - it came from that place in him. He took another step toward her and she let him, but when he put his hand on her cheek and leaned in to kiss her, she turned her face.

  
“Dareth shiral,” she said. His hand dropped from her face. The baby shifted around again - there wasn’t room for kicks or flutters anymore, just slow, rolling motions like the sea - and without thinking she took hold of his hand and pressed it to the place where he could feel it.

  
“Ar lath ma,” he said softly, and she knew it was true. Knew it was directed at both of them. The words sat in her throat. She felt them. Knew she should say them. But they wouldn’t move. She nodded instead. After a moment, he left the room.

  
She went and stood in the nursery, and in the stillness it almost became another bad dream. He hadn’t lied again. He wasn’t leaving. They didn’t have to deal with another orb and all it meant. She’d wake up soon. Instead, she found it hard to sleep at all, which led to her using the crystal to reach out to Dorian.

  
“Ellana? Is everything alright?”

  
Now that she heard his voice, she realized she didn’t even have the energy to tell him. Maybe she’d try being Solas for a day, and tell half-truths. See how it felt.

  
“We’ve had problems with unrest in the west - extremists who believe we need to try harder to make Enasan like ancient Elvhenan. He needs to go in person to deal with it. Could you - could you get here any sooner?”

  
It felt easy. The justifications wrote themselves. Dorian didn’t really need to know, anyway. She could even persuade herself that it was a state secret, something no Tevinter Magister should know, friend or not.

  
But it also felt like that dark forest - like the wolves and the cold and the soul-deep fear that no one was coming to help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember that time I sat down to write the last chapter and thought the whole pregnancy would happen within it and everything would be fluffy and cute? And then I thought “surely it will be over in chapter eight?”
> 
> ...whoops?
> 
> The more I thought about it, the more I just couldn't let go of the sense that having a baby is enormously stressful, and that stress would inevitably bring out Solas's many anxieties, leading to something along these lines. I spent a lot of time working out exactly what he would do before the story sort of led me to this point.
> 
> Next chapter we’ll see things from Solas’s POV (and I guess there will probably be a baby?? But then I have to decide the sex and the name. Crap.)
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	9. Fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this chapter is SO LONG. I apologize. I just couldn't break it off anywhere. I finished it on Monday and then rewrote and edited it like 12 times. Gah. Without further ado, here we go....

It made so much sense at the time.

  
Solas watched Ellana’s stomach grow, and as it became more visible - as people stopped her on the street, touched her, smiled at her - as she started to move more slowly, to feel tired, to ask for his help standing up or reaching something high - as he reached out with his magic and felt the little spirit burning bright inside her, right alongside her own - he knew.

  
Whatever it took, he had to protect them. He had to make the best world he could for them.

  
He couldn’t ever lose them.

  
It was his duty, as a father and a lover.

  
They’d made progress on so many things since Enasan was founded, but not on the Veil. Too many immediate concerns, they always said - food, trade, roads, laws - and for a time Solas agreed. But when he thought on his little family he couldn’t agree anymore. What could be more important than making sure his child grew up in the company of spirits, with magic flowing like water, with no fear of death? How could he stand to do nothing when he lay awake at night looking at Ellana, her body full with the promise of a new life that would come into this world only to leave it? To leave him?

  
He suspected that he could remove the Veil where it covered Enasan. It would be difficult, but it wasn't so different from creating it in the first place. He would leave the magic elsewhere undisturbed - strengthen it, even. It would still take immense power (and he’d given up most of the artifacts he’d uncovered to help him when they ended the war) and there would be ramifications, to be sure, both within Enasan and without. It would have to be handled carefully. Ellana would be good for that part. He’d have to ask her what she thought.

  
But -

  
There was something so pure about their time together now. Outside of the house they worked and wrote and debated as if nothing had changed (even if he occasionally couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way she radiated health and life). When they returned home, it was different. They did their best not to let the day’s work follow them. They talked about the child, their own childhoods, their plans, their fears.

  
Why would he ruin that, when he didn't even have a way of carrying out his plan? Why worry her (it would worry her, of course it would worry her that he wanted to do this, she’d admitted that this was an issue they may never agree on) if he didn't even know whether or not he could find another source of power like his orb? There were others, but if he hadn’t found them when he was intent on actually removing the Veil, what said he would find one now? He tasked Misyl with looking, discreetly, but he had little hope.

  
Until the encrypted late night report came to their door.

  
_New section of ruins uncovered. Points to a possible temple to Falon’Din further west. No sign of sentinels. Undisturbed for centuries, easily. No one saw the signs but me. Proceed alone to second site?_

  
Yes. Hope.

  
“Solas?”

  
Ellana, bleary eyed, her shift clinging to her every curve, so beautiful in her rumpled state it hurt. Another nightmare, of course. She had so many burdens already. So he couldn't tell her yet. Let her have some peace now. Let him find some peace in her (and how he did that night, her body lush and full and trembling because of him, he regretted only that he hadn’t made it last longer). But what lingering peace could he have when he reached out with his magic and finally felt a gentle thump against her belly, a greeting from a person who would depend on him wholly?

  
He lay with his ear against her for a long while, so full of love and longing he couldn’t move from the spot. Ellana had drifted off, but then he felt another thump. Someone else was still awake. Someone who was part him and part her and yet still entirely unknown. Someone he could talk to, even though he’d never met them.

  
“I will find a way, ma da’len. You deserve - everything.”

  
“What, love?” Ellana was not as asleep at he thought.

  
“Nothing. Sleep, arasha.”

  
He rose later that night and wrote to Misyl.

_Proceed. Tell no one._

  
*

  
It made so much sense at the time. But there he was, traversing the Crossroads alone, heartsick at the way Ellana looked at him before he left. She wasn't even surprised that he’d been hiding something from her. Furious and afraid - but not surprised.

  
He was doing the right thing, though. She took his hand before he left and pressed it to where the baby was moving and he knew it all over again. This was right, and Ellana would understand in the end.

  
They were waiting for him at the temple. It was a short fight, if it could even be called that. It had been so long since he called on his mana for such destruction, and it rushed out of him like a wave, leaving them frozen in ice or stone or crushed by the Fade itself. He was electric from head to toe afterwards, half-hoping for more foes to fight. There was one left, but this one he needed alive. Her features marked her as Elvhen. He’d hit her with a mind blast earlier, knocking her into a stone pillar. She was still reeling from it, and it took little force magic on his part to keep her pinned.

  
“Who else knew of this place?” he asked. She spat, but the blood and spittle only hit his armor. “I will not ask again.”

  
“I will not betray them. Not all of us are traitors. Not like you.”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“You know what I mean. You woke us from uthenera and promised a world reborn. Then you took back that promise so you could make a half-breed with some shem elf who isn’t worth the -”

  
The Stonefist he leveled against her crushed her. Whatever else she was going to say about Ellana was crushed with it. Once again mana buzzed under his skin, seeking release, and the air grew steadily colder as it seeped out in the form of frost. No matter what he did, he was a traitor and a trickster to someone.

  
He didn't need her alive after all. He could meditate here to enter the Fade and ask the nearby spirits who they’d seen around the temple lately. It would be enough of a start for their agents to act upon. What he needed now was the orb. Thankfully, it was behind so many wards and barriers that the agents he’d killed had not been able to access it yet.

  
It was Falon’Din’s. He could not unlock it directly, of course. Not yet. He would need to take it home with him, spend time inspecting the enchantments, and see what power might be gained from it. He found it more difficult than he anticipated to calm himself enough to meditate. _A half-breed with some shem elf._  They were public figures, and Ellana had only recently given up her public duties - their child was an open topic of discussion in many places, no doubt. But to hear the poisoned words on the tongue of an enemy…? His skin was still crawling with the urge to fight, to track down every last one of them and crush them as he’d crushed that warrior. They would never get near her or the child. He would be sure of that.

  
The anger was a drumbeat inside the Fade, one that drew spirits of Rage and Vengeance straight to him, promising that they would tell him everything he needed to know if he would just let them whisper in his ear a while, or wear his skin for a day. He got what he needed from them, and from the less suspicious ones who joined them. He paused at a nearby encampment to dispatch a few related messages, then returned to the nearest eluvian, and began his journey back to Ellana.

  
*

  
The house was too quiet when he arrived. He’d been gone only two days, but it felt like a different place.

  
“Vhenan?” He called, reaching out with magic to sense for her. He found nothing. “Ellana?”

  
It was pointless to search the rooms himself but he did it anyway, as if his magic could have lied. There was no sign of her. Every muscle went tight. He searched again. No signs of a struggle. She’d probably just gone out. But then where was Mitha? Had they gone out together?

  
He waited a while, pacing the rooms and restraining the impulse to Fade step all the way to Mitha’s home and see if they were there. She might come back in his absence, and he didn't want to miss her. He was on his second round through their bedroom when he noticed Ellana’s crystal was sitting on her bedside table. She rarely left home without it, in case Dorian called. So then maybe she hadn't left, or she had left in some kind of rush, or -

  
On impulse, he picked up the crystal and activated it.

  
“Dorian?” He called. There was no answer for a moment. He was about to put it down when he heard scuffling coming through. Someone was listening. “Dorian, it's Solas. It's urgent.”

  
“Ah, Solas. Didn't recognize the voice for a moment. What's the matter?”

  
Dorian was a good liar, in that way all nobles were. But Solas knew him too well. The magister knew Ellana could go into labor any day. He heard Solas’s worried voice, and did not immediately ask if Ellana was alright. Solas’s hand grew tighter on the crystal.

  
“Where is Ellana?”

  
There was a pause.

  
“She’s with Bull and me.”

  
“How? Where?”

  
“She had some of your soldiers escort us to our nearest eluvian so we could meet her there. Cut short our romantic stay in Montsimmard but beggars can't be choosers.”

  
“Where are you now?”

  
Another pause.

  
“I’m not certain she wants you to know.”

  
“What?”

  
Dorian sighed. “All she said to me is that you left suddenly, that you’d been keeping things from her, and that she just wanted some time away. For clarity.”

  
“Some time - the baby could come any day now.”

  
“Believe me, neither of us feels prepared for that possibility either.”

  
“Let me talk to her. Please. This is a misunderstanding.”

  
“I would ask her, but she is resting now. Perhaps later. I wouldn't seek her in the Fade, either. If space is what she wants, it's what she deserves.”

  
Solas was silent. How much did he tell Dorian of what was going on? He didn’t want her to hear it secondhand. But if there was danger -

  
“There are dissenters here in Enasan who may wish her harm. If you are still within our borders -” He had to pause at that thought. How far would she have gone with them? How far could she intend to go?

  
“She’s safe, Solas. We would never let anything happen to her. You know this. Keep the crystal with you at all times. I will contact you if anything changes.”

  
“Very well.”

  
Another pause. He was about to put the crystal down, when Dorian spoke again.

 

“Whatever it was you did this time - I hope it was worth this.”

  
The crystal went dim.

  
Solas wanted to activate the crystal again and shout at Dorian until he revealed where they were, to find out which soldiers had been involved in the escort and get the information from them, to somehow calm himself enough to enter the Fade and find her himself. Instead he paused, breathed. Ellana had a temper. Of that there was no doubt. But she rarely let her temper guide her for long. He’d hurt her, and he knew that, but once she was ready to listen, his explanation would make sense, and she would come home...

  
It didn’t make the physical ache at her absence any better. He tried to absorb himself in studying the orb but he found himself wondering how she was feeling, wishing he could soothe away the hurt he’d caused with his hands and his words, missing the feeling of the child moving inside her. Three days went by like that. Three days in which he received reports of efforts to track down remaining hostile agents, but no word from Ellana or Dorian. No word was good. That meant she still hadn’t gone into labor.

  
Unless -

  
No. Dorian would have called. She wouldn't keep him from being there. She would give him a chance to explain.

  
It was towards the end of the third day that he heard her voice.

  
“Solas?”

  
He snatched the crystal immediately.

  
“Yes?” Silence. “Ellana?”

  
“Meet us at Mythal’s altar.”

  
Solas had never made it to an eluvian, or through the Crossroads, so quickly before. He paused only to secure the orb in an enchanted container, behind every necessary ward.

  
It was sunset when he got there nonetheless. Red-orange light glinted through the leaves of the trees and he squinted his eyes against it to make out Dorian and Bull leaning against the wall enclosing the altar. No Ellana.

  
“That was fast,” Bull commented.

  
“Surely you understand my haste,” Solas replied. “Is she…?”

  
“In labor? No. Furious with you? Yes.”

  
Solas felt fire rising in him at Dorian’s tone. He quelled it. “I - want to thank you,” he said with some effort. “I’m happy you were here when she needed you.”

  
Dorian was visibly surprised. Clearly it wasn’t the reaction he expected. “Of course. I just wish she didn't need us.”

  
There wasn’t much to say to that.

  
She was standing in front of the altar, her back to him, wearing a loose green tunic and leggings and nothing else, the waning sunlight shining through her red curls. Solas knew she heard him walking towards her, her keen hunter’s senses remaining sharp even after years of disuse, but she did not turn to him.

  
“Vhenan,” he said when he was at her side. “I -”

  
“Do you have it?” She still hadn’t turned, but he could study her profile. Her grey eyes were hard, focused, the way they were when she studied the war table or a particularly frustrating letter.

  
“Yes.”

  
“And the Dinlaselan agents?”

  
“Dead, with our own agents on the trail of the others.”

  
“I haven't said anything to anyone on the council about this. I assume that will be your job.”

  
“Indeed.” Then, tentatively. “How are you? Both of you?”

  
“Uncomfortable,” she sighed, wincing. “False contractions. Mitha said to expect them around this time. They’re like practice for labor. They could go on for days - or even a couple of weeks - or-”

  
“Or?”

  
“Or they could turn into the real thing.There’s nothing we can do but wait.” She met his gaze for the first time. His chest tightened. “But we still need to talk about the orb.”

  
“I do not want to -”

  
“Worry me? Stress me? Hurt me? Too late.” The words cut deep. He had to look away. “Walk with me. It helps.”

  
Spring was beginning around them, and Solas kept his gaze on the many small flowers that were just blooming. They filled the air with soothing scents as they meandered, and Solas let the words spill out.

  
“Every day since you told me you were with child, I have felt my heart and my hope grow at a pace matched only by my worst fear. If I could barely stand the thought of you dying before - I couldn't even conceive of the idea of watching our child come into the world only to leave it, or the thought that they would not enjoy the kind of childhood I had.”

  
She laughed - a short, bitter sound. “Do you know why I asked Dorian and Bull to bring me here? I wanted to be in the woods. I miss the woods. I sit in our house sometimes and feel sad that our child will never know the trees the way I did. They aren’t going to have a childhood like yours or like mine, and maybe they shouldn't. But I didn’t get so upset about it that I decided to lie to you or secretly plan to rejoin a clan as a result.” Her voice was rising a little.

  
“But you have never wanted to return to your clan - we have always said that we would find a way to try and restore what our people have lost. Yet it was always delayed by other concerns. I can’t delay what our child deserves, and I think when you hear my idea you will see reason -” It was the wrong thing to say. He saw it in her eyes.

  
“Of course, because I am the one being unreasonable right now.”

  
“You did find it suitable to run off with no warning or notice when you are days away from delivering our child, after telling me you would be there when I returned -”

  
“Maybe I wanted to see what it would be like to be the one who has the power for once!”

  
“What do you -”

  
“Don’t you see? This isn’t about the fucking Veil!” She took in a quick breath then and went still. She held up her hand when he tried to speak. “This is about the fact that you lied to me. Again. The fact that I had to sit there again and replay a hundred conversations for hidden meanings. That I had to wonder again if I actually know this man who claims to love me. To be honest - I can't even think about what you mean to do to the Veil right now. I can’t even think about what that means - about whether or not you’ve changed your mind -”

  
“Please - let me explain. I have not changed my mind about this world, about my responsibility to it. I do not want to carry out my previous plan. I believe it may be possible for me to remove the Veil only where it covers Enasan, with no harm to any other nation. Once I find a way to use Falon’Din’s orb, it will be simple -”

  
“No,” she said emphatically. “You cannot do that.”

  
“It is the only solution.”

  
“And how much fear will it provoke in Orlais or Ferelden or the Imperium or in the ranks of the Qunari to know you have this kind of power again? To know that spirits roam our midst and could escape to their lands? They will try to destroy us.”

  
“And we could defend ourselves admirably if they tried.”

  
“Through what? Massacre through magic? Would you have our child grow up in a world at war, knowing that we condoned violence on that scale?”

  
“Then what do we do? How do we restore the birthright that belongs to all our people without condemning them? At some point there will be a blood price. That does not mean it is an unworthy cause.”

  
Ellana opened her mouth to continue arguing, then winced, her eyes sliding closed.

  
“Vhenan?” He asked, his pulse speeding.

  
“I’m fine. That one hurt little more. Mitha said it's only a problem if I can't talk or breathe through it. Then it's real.”

  
Real. Soon their child would be here.

  
“I need to think. Let's go home,” she said.

  
It was a mostly silent journey to the eluvian, broken only by occasional remarks from Dorian (“well, this is familiar - traipsing through the wilderness pretending there is nothing awkward at all going on between any members of our party!”) and Bull (“There’s a root there, Boss. Look out. Don't give me that look - I have no clue how you can see over that big belly.”). Ellana asked to stop and rest once, in the Crossroads. She sat on a bench and leaned back, her hand curled protectively around the lower part of her stomach.

  
“Is all well?” he asked.

  
“Yes. It's my back, actually.”

  
“I can draw you a bath when we get home.” It was a tentative offer, but she nodded.

  
When they did arrive home, she went straight to their bedroom, and he followed. Once he’d run the bath and warmed the water, he saw she was trying to undress herself - a task that had grown difficult now.

  
“Vhenan, let me -” he said, but the surprise in his tone died when he remembered she had not touched him at all.

  
“Fine,” she huffed.

  
The tunic came off easily, sliding over her head once it was past the bulge of her stomach, and then he untied the breast band. He helped her pull down the leggings, and then her smalls. He helped her into the tub, surprised, as he had been lately, that she did not topple under the weight of her stomach, stretched so big now that it was stretching the skin too, leaving red marks he wished he could soothe away.

  
She laid back in the tub and was silent, and he began to wonder if he should leave, when she spoke.

  
“I thought we shared a life. I thought you were past the point where you needed to hide things.”

  
“It was not a conscious decision.”

  
“No, it was a hundred decisions. One for every day you said nothing.”

  
“I only want to spare you pain.”

  
“You can't. And you won't be able to spare our child pain, either. Will you lie to them?”

  
“All parents lie.”

  
“Solas. You know what I mean.”

  
He looked away from her. “This has never been easy for me. Sharing myself. Elvhenan was not a place that encouraged it - at least not within the circles I moved in. There were always plans within plans, betrayals behind smiles. You didn’t just wear armor on your body. You hid your feelings and desires, too, lest they be turned against you.”

  
He heard the sound of water moving and looked up to see that she’d turned enough to look at him. “I can imagine - well, maybe I can’t, but I can try. I have spent an unfortunate amount of time in Orlais. I know it may always be difficult for you to let me in. But, consider this. We both wanted a child, and yet neither of us said anything out of fear. If this hadn’t happened by accident - it may never have happened.”

  
It was a terrible thought. Their child wasn’t even fully in the world yet, and Solas already hated the thought of a world without them. Ellana was right.

  
“So then what do we do?” He asked.

  
She sighed and leaned her head back. “I don’t know. Sleep, for right now.”

  
“Say the word when you’re ready.”

  
Eventually the water cooled and she asked for his help getting out. Then he wrapped her in a towel, and for a moment left his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, loathe to let go of that point of contact. Touch had always been a language for them, one safer than actual words. He needed it to speak to her now.

  
“I want to have you forever, ma sa’lath,” he said, softly.

  
“And I want to feel like I’m really your partner. Like you trust me.”

  
He had an idea then. He went to the box on his bedside table and began dispelling the wards, until he could open it and show her the orb inside. She took a deep breath.

  
“Take this. Take it and hide it wherever you’d like. I will act on none of my plans until we are both satisfied with them. That was always my intention, anyway.”

  
She looked at him wide eyed.

  
“You are aware of what happened the last time I touched one of those, right?”

  
“This one has not been activated - and you should keep it warded inside the box, anyway.” He closed the box and reset the wards. Only then did she reach out her hand for it. It was a heavy box, and she had to cradle it awkwardly against her side to hold it, but she managed.

  
“But what do we do about the future, Solas? How do I not wake up every morning wondering if you’re hiding things from me? I don't know if I can live like that.”

  
He swallowed, and said the thing that sat heavy in his chest.

  
“You owe me nothing. You have made me no promises. If you cannot live like that - if I ever bring more sadness to your life than joy -”

  
“No!” He was a little surprised at how vehement she was. “No - I don’t want us to part. And I’m not just saying that because of the baby.”

  
She sat on the bed then, and he joined her, sitting far enough away that they did not touch.

  
“Has it ever bothered you that we are not wed? Or bonded, I suppose?”

  
She shook her head. “No. I feel more connected to you than I ever did to Mahanon. The only thing we missed out on was the party, and I think I have had my share of those.”

  
“And perhaps a ring. A token of affection for you to wear for all to see.”

  
“I think the gigantic belly does the trick.”

  
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “True.”

  
She sighed. “Help me dress?” He obliged, and when the shift was settled over her she spoke again. “Does it bother you? That we aren’t wed?”

  
“It does not bother me, no. I had a dream about marrying you once, when we were apart. But it will not make us belong to each other any more or less than we do already.”

  
Silence stretched between them. He still didn't have an answer for her question. Then she took his hand.

  
“Let’s go to sleep. We - we will find a way, somehow. Through this.”

  
It might have been any other night then, as they arranged the pillows so she could lie down as comfortably as possible and then he slipped in at her side, except that she was asleep before she had kissed him or said good night. She was probably very tired, he assured himself. All would be well in the end.

  
No solution presented itself over the next couple of days, which were spent showing Dorian and Bull around the city. Dorian marveled at the use of magic, attempted once more to convince Solas to teach him how eluvians were made, and Bull asked how the society itself was progressing - what sort of ideals they espoused, what laws. They played chess in the evenings and it began to feel, at least a little, like things were returning to normal. Except that there was some kind of wall between him and Ellana - she was no longer outright angry with him, but the easy intimacy of their life together was missing. She did not trail her hand idly down his arm or tease him or call him vhenan. She said she did not want him to leave, but she was hesitant to let him back in. He could not blame her.

  
For all he knew, it was because of her prolonged state of discomfort. Her false labor pains went on, and though even he could tell that the child was sitting lower in her belly, nothing seemed to be happening. She often stood there, pensive, her focus turned inward, like she was waiting for a signal only she would know.

  
“It is only two days to my birthday, you know,” Dorian said one morning. “Perhaps you ought to get things kickstarted? Eat some spicy Antivan food? I hear a little roll in the hay helps, too.”

  
They both blushed at that. It was a joke Ellana had been making up until his revelation. She was as eager as ever for physical contact, her body still made more sensitive by pregnancy, and so ready to finally meet their child. It was difficult to find positions that worked, true, but he’d imagined exactly such a scenario in these final days: the two of them excitedly waiting for the day to come yet also enjoying their last days alone, him taking his time and enjoying her changed body.  
Now he knew there would be no such intimacy.

  
“Why don't you and Bull go for a walk, and we’ll see what we can do?” Ellana said, but it was a wry comment - no hint of warmth or promise.

  
“Ah, but you promised you would take me to the library at long last. Library first, getting you into labor later.”

  
“Demanding as ever. Let’s finish eating, and we’ll go.”

  
The library was, unsurprisingly, one of Solas’s favorite places in their new home. Ordinarily, Ellana loved it too, but she looked upset now, watching Dorian paw through tomes and Bull observed the various patrons. She was at enough of a distance from them that he approached her and stood by her side.

  
“What’s troubling you?” He asked at last.

  
“If I had asked you - really pushed - would you have told me?”

  
“Yes.” His regret ran deep at the thought. He should not have waited. There would have been a fight, true - but not a fight like this.

 

“There were times I thought about it. I knew you were worried. I wondered, once or twice, if there was something you weren’t telling me. But I told myself that if nothing was going on, you would be hurt that I pushed. I wanted to show that I trusted you.”

  
“After our history together, even if I was hurt, it would hardly be fair of me.”

  
“Then maybe I will make a point of asking more, going forward. And I’ll need you to answer me honestly when I ask. Always.”

  
“I am be amenable to that.”

  
“Good. I can’t claim the feeling will go away overnight, but in time...”

  
She trailed off. In the pause that followed, he put an arm around her hips, and drew her closer to him. “I am sorry that I hurt you,” he said. “I am sorry I did not tell you right away what I was thinking. I will not try to justify it further.”

  
She turned her face to him then, and studied him. Then she gave him a small nod, and an even smaller smile.

  
Once they’d perused enough, they went to the market at Dorian’s request so he could prepare something spicy for lunch (he and Ellana laughed the whole time over the last time they attempted to cook together, a story he did not know - she said she would tell him later). She laughed, in fact, until she had to grab her stomach.

  
“Da’len, stop fussing. If there’s not enough room for you in there, you’ll just have to come out and say hello to your Uncle Dorian in person.”

  
They continued laughing and reminiscing all the way home from the market. His heart twisted a little to see their ease with one another and to hear the playful teasing and affection between Dorian and Bull. It hurt him to know that just as she had gone immediately to him now, Dorian had been the one to help shoulder her burdens after he broke off their relationship, after the loss of her arm, during her long struggle against his own plans. The man probably thought Solas was still standoffish with him for any number of reasons, but the truth was that their friendship was a reminder of his many failures. Maybe it was another thing he could fix with a little more openness - though the Tevene certainly had his own issues in that arena.

  
To Dorian’s dismay, the spicy food did not have its desired effect, and his birthday came with what at first appeared to be little sign of change. Ellana’s pains had continued on and off throughout the morning, but it wasn't until late that evening, just before it was time for bed, when one hit hard enough that she dropped the chess piece in her hand.

  
“It might not mean anything,” she rushed to say to the fearful eyes trained on her. “Not unless another one happens soon.”

  
But another one did come a few minutes later, one that cut her off mid-sentence. And a little while later, one that made her reach for Solas’s hand and squeeze it hard.

  
“Solas,” she said calmly when it was done. “Go get the midwife.”

  
*

  
Solas was no stranger to seeing Ellana in pain. He had a grisly catalogue of memories of her face contorted, her breath cut short, her cry for help when she became overwhelmed. When she was naked he still pressed lingering kisses to the white scar on her back where a Venatori slicer had pierced her lung, nearly left her drowning in her own blood, as if he could erase the memory. Sometimes he looked at the remains of her left arm and could hear her cry of agony as the Anchor destroyed her as if it was yesterday. He thought these things would prepare him for the sight of her in labor. He was wrong.

  
“Not yet, da’len,” the midwife said as she ended what must have been her hundredth examination. “You need to wait a little longer.”

  
Ellana closed her eyes in frustration. Solas thought for a moment that she might cry. Or that he might. It was morning now. Hours since he had gone for the midwife, hours since the contractions settled into a rhythm that was supposed to mean progress.

  
“Again?” He asked.

  
She nodded.

  
This had been the pattern for hours now. Ellana grit her teeth through contractions that bowed her back and stole her breath, and Mitha felt her belly and in-between her legs and said “not yet.”

  
Then Solas spread cooling magic over her stomach, and she walked around until it wore off (something Mitha swore would move things along, though she forbade him from fully numbing her to the pain, saying Ellana needed to remain in tune with her body). While they walked, they talked.

  
“And I thought the Anchor was bad,” she said this time.

  
“Truly? This is worse?”

  
“Yes. But the result will be better, right?”

  
“Of course.”

  
Her hand went tight on his. Another contraction.

  
“Any last predictions? Have I told you about the bets circulating via letter?”

  
She had, and so had Bull, but talking seemed to help. He let her tell him the odds Varric had set for boy over girl (apparently he didn't buy Leliana’s trick with the ring at all) and for blue eyes over grey (there had been investigation into the color of her parents’ and grandparents’ eyes, to her amused shock). But by the end she was again bent over double, trying and failing to hold back the cries of pain that twisted his stomach, her fingers wrapped so tight around his he thought they would break.

  
“I am happy you’re here,” she said when it was no longer morning, when she was too weak to walk anymore, when she’d given up on holding back tears. “I could never do this without you.”

  
“As always, you sell yourself short, vhenan. You, your strength - you make my heart go still, as you always have. You don’t need me.”

  
“But I do,” she said. “We do.”

  
Solas had given up on not crying, too.

  
And on and on it went (she told stories about how she used to find it funny to hide from her parents and then surprise them, how she begged for a little sister but now wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone), until, finally, a little past midday, Mitha declared it was time. Time to put all her strength, all her focus, into one goal. And his heart? She was good at nothing if she was not good at that.

  
They eased her into a sort of crouch on the edge of the bed that the midwife said would make it easier but there was still pain for her, pain so sharp it erased everything from his mind except the wish for it to end. The midwife could have asked him to undergo the rite of Tranquility and he might have said yes, if it would only end her pain.

  
But then there was the sound that wiped away everything else. Tiny and fierce and loud. A cry that struck him dumb.

  
“Congratulations,” Mitha said. “You have a daughter.”

  
The cord was cut, and the midwife placed the squalling child on Ellana’s chest (Ellana had gone stiff meanwhile, like a soldier at attention, like she wouldn't be complete until the child was touching her again).

  
“Oh,” she managed when she relaxed, looking down at the little creature pressed to her. “Oh - andaran atishan, da’vhenan.”

  
Solas didn’t have words to offer. Just a bottomless sense of wonder, like the first time he shaped the Fade with his mind. A daughter. His daughter. Their daughter.

  
He was a father.

  
The midwife had to take her away after that of course, to clean and examine her. Ellana didn't move a muscle while she did, like the world had stopped. Then the midwife returned, smiling down at the carefully wrapped child.

  
“Alright, da’asha. Let Papae hold you for a bit. There's still the afterbirth.”

  
There was a moment of terror when she was placed in his arms. She was more squirmy than he thought she would be. She was totally helpless and yet already moving, struggling, searching. He drank in the sight of her - she had tawny brown skin, lighter than her mother’s red-brown skin but certainly darker than his, a smattering of tight brown curls across her head, a nose that looked like it might turn out to be long like his own. Her eyes were shut tight, her fists were balled up, her bowed lips were pressed together. She gave every impression of someone who was angry and frightened. _Yes, da'len_ , he wanted to say. _This is a painful world you’ve come to, but I’m here. We’re here._

  
There was a flurry of activity before they had a moment alone, the three of them. There were stitches and healing spells to perform for Ellana, linens to be changed. The midwife helped them through the first time nursing her, a bit more of an ordeal than he might have predicted for something so natural, but soon she was asleep at Ellana’s breast. Solas could climb into bed then, and lie at Ellana’s side. The only part of his daughter that was visible from his vantage point was the little tip of her bladed ear, but he couldn’t stop looking at it.

  
“So - Ashara?” Ellana said.

  
“Yes,” he said. “Ashara. She will be a woman of many journeys.”

  
“Dorian will be displeased.”

  
“Hang Dorian. Hang everyone but the two of you.”

  
“Very well.”

  
“You were marvelous, vhenan,” he said. “She’s marvelous. I don’t deserve this.”

  
Ellana frowned, and might have responded, except that that was when Dorian and Bull crept in.

  
“Well, who do we have here? I heard someone arrived fashionably late to my party.” Dorian asked nonchalantly.

  
“Ashara,” Ellana said, beaming. She shifted a little, trying to make it easier to see her face, but it was difficult one-handed, and Solas found himself possessed by the urge to show her off.

  
“Let me,” he said. Hands that rarely faltered on a staff or with a brush suddenly seemed too clumsy to hold something so small, so precious, but he took her from her mother (Ellana was a mother - it was still a wondrous thought) and cradled her close, and walked over to Dorian and Bull.

  
“How the fuck do you make them that small - shit, sorry, no cursing in front of the kid,” Bull said.

  
“May I?” Dorian asked, holding his arms out. For an instant Solas wanted to say no - wanted to keep her close to himself, this sleeping miracle, this person he never thought would exist - but then he held her out. Dorian took her carefully and looked down at her, and there was genuine joy on his face - until he composed himself and assumed his usual hauteur. “Well my dear Ashara, they gave you the wrong name and you do appear to have your father’s nose, and you missed my birthday by just one measly day, but I suppose you’ll manage. Welcome to Thedas.”

  
They took turns holding her, marveling at her (or at Bull’s ability to hold her, which was quite a sight), until Ellana could hardly keep her eyes open.

  
“Bring her back,” she said quietly, and no one hesitated to comply, though soon she would have to be put into the cradle they’d prepared. Solas couldn’t resist pressing one last kiss to her forehead before settling her into the crook of her mother’s arm. Dorian and Bull made their quiet excuses and left, and then Solas slid into bed too, finally feeling the full weight of his exhaustion. But how could he sleep when such a lovely sight was mere inches from him?

  
“Ar lath ma.” The words slipped out of him. The best and brightest truth he’d ever known.

  
“Ar lath ma,” Ellana replied. Her voice was low and rough. “Come here.”

  
He leaned over her and caught the kiss she was offering, slow and gentle at first, and then deeper, just little flicks of his tongue against hers, just the way he knew made her toes curl.

  
“Worth it?” she said when they parted, her lips still a whisper away from his own.

  
The words weighed down on him in all their beautiful, terrible glory. If there were no slaves in Elvhenan he would not have rebelled and made the Veil, if he had not allowed Corypheus to find his orb he would not have met Ellana, if he had not betrayed the people he swore to protect he would not be here now - if if if -

  
“Worth it,” he said.

  
*

  
Ten little fingers, ten little toes.

  
Details like that were what Solas had to remind himself of, over and over, in the days that followed, when it felt overwhelming. Just count the ten little fingers and the ten little toes.

  
Despite every admonition to the contrary, neither he nor Ellana found it easy to sleep when Ashara did. Someone had to watch the rise and fall of her chest. Ellana found it positively impossible to sleep without touching her in some way. Clearly the nursery was a mistake, at least for now. Ashara wasn’t going anywhere, not when she was so soft and small and fit so perfectly on top of his chest, when her whole hand wrapped around his finger and held on tight.

  
It was during one of those times, when they stared at the dark sweep of her eyelashes while she slept (her eyes were blue, like his, though they might change, something he selfishly hoped wouldn’t happen), when Ellana said it.

  
“Let’s do it slowly.”

  
“Do what slowly?”

  
“The Veil. Could you weaken it over time? Over years?”

  
“In theory, yes.”

  
“Then that’s the trick. Weaken it slowly here in the Arbor Wilds, so slowly it would not draw attention from other nations. Then eventually, someday, when the world is ready for it - let it fall away from this place.”

  
“You’re talking about a long time vhenan.”

  
“I know. It may be too long for me. But for the two of you…”

  
His throat grew tight. There was no guarantee that Ashara would share his longevity, but he could not bear to think of that now, when she was so tiny and beautiful and perfect, let alone speak it.

  
“We will see. It may be that we don't have to wait that long.”

  
“We will see,” she said.

  
Ashara shifted and whimpered. Solas put a hand on her back and felt the rush of her pulse (too fast, he thought when he first felt it, it has to be too fast). Ellana’s hand joined his and gripped tight. It was not an easy answer. But answers had never been easy for them.

  
It became easy to pretend that nothing had ever been broken between them, when their daughter absorbed so much of their attention. In fact, it wasn't until Dorian and Bull insisted on keeping an eye on her on their last afternoon in Enasan that they had any time truly alone.

  
When they retreated to their bedroom there was a moment when they looked at each other in silence, and that was when Solas began to feel the cracks again. Trust was a fragile thing, regrowing between them as surely as Ashara had grown within Ellana. They had not spent time on that rebuilding yet, too lost in frantic wails and learning to soothe and feed her.

  
“It’s strange without her,” Ellana said, sitting down on their bed. “We’ve spent more time just the two of us, but it's still strange.”

  
“Indeed. But not unpleasant.”

  
“Yes.”

  
When he sat down, Ellana moved closer to him, so their bodies just touched. Then she looked at him, hesitant, and he was reminded of that night in Kirkwall when she first reached for him again. She did not know where to begin. So he traced the shape of her jaw with a fingertip, and leaned down to kiss her, slowly enough for her to pull away. Instead she returned it - a languorous kiss, the kind that made the world go still.

  
After a while she broke away and laid down, and when he followed suit she pulled him back to her until he was settled on top of her, and resumed their unhurried pace. He recognized this now. This was their language, their way of speaking without words, so necessary when they first became lovers because there was so much neither of them could say. When she felt like a failure she didn't want counsel, just the weight of him pressed against her. When he longed to tell her the truth he channeled it into tight embraces instead. There was no hint of lust in it - just connection. Just the joy of hearing her sigh, of resting his forehead against hers and feeling her fingers dance along his scalp.

  
“We should rest,” she said after a time.

  
“True. We will have no other chance when they are gone.”

  
“I half wish we could do more than just rest,” she sighed. “But I’m still so sore. I can't believe magic doesn't just fix that.”

  
“It is the same with any injury. Give it time.”

  
They continued to give it time, time in which Ashara grew and looked around with wide blue eyes like she wanted to take in the whole world all at once. Eyes that seemed to open all the time. Solas had not had a journey into the Fade longer than three or four hours since she was born. Even if Ellana was the one who fed her, she still needed him to help get Ashara into the sling, and changing her one-handed was still more trouble than it was worth. They had occasional breaks when friends came to visit (“Told you the ring didn't lie - look at this lovely little girl,” Leliana said when she came, and fussed over her as tenderly as one of her little nugs), but those breaks still amounted to little more than a chance to sleep or bathe uninterrupted. If their kisses did build heat, little came of it at first, until the day Ellana pressed herself against him and whispered: “Let me take care of you.” And as before, he wanted to refuse. He waited to respond and she waited to move, and he licked his lips and said: “If you want to.”

  
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t,” she said, and reached down, and used her hand to bring him a sweet release that came with a surprised gasp as she rubbed him through it, as he spilled on her, harder and sooner than he thought he would.

  
“I’ve missed hearing that,” she sighed. But then there was a whimper from the nearby cradle and she was up before he could offer her a release of her own.

  
Another month went by. Varric sent a children’s book, _The Little Wolf_ , that they read to Ashara at night, and even though she did not understand she listened to the sound of their voices with curiosity in her eyes. She stretched and kicked and fumbled and fussed and chattered without words every day Solas was grateful that he’d chosen a world that made her possible. She did not seem to dream yet, not in a way that he could discern, but he looked for her every night anyway. Soon she began to smile, a sight that always rendered him dumb. She still slept in their room, sometimes in their bed. Perhaps that was why it was hard to find time to show Ellana that extent of his devotion and amazement that without her, none of this was possible. Unlike her father, Ashara was not a deep sleeper yet. If Solas began to kiss along Ellana’s collarbone or to slide his hand down her stomach, and she whispered that they should go to another room, the creak of the door was often enough to wake their daughter.

  
It was fine, really, he told himself. Except that sometimes he knew the wall was still there. The wall he had built. And he wanted to know it was torn down, that they were whole again. That they could find the rhythm they’d known. So he kept waiting, and hoping, and taking tender moments with her where he could find them - telling her she was beautiful when she sat staring off into the distance, bringing her tea, taking her hand so he could kiss the palm. It was not so different from their Inquisition days, snatching time where they could.

  
Then, finally, there was one day when Ashara was asleep in the afternoon, so deep asleep they could creep into the sitting room, that there was time for lazy kisses and caresses to turn into him stripping off her clothes and touching every newly bared inch of skin. He was able to slide down until he was on his back and Ellana was poised above him, and then he got to bury his face in her sweet, slick folds and taste her everywhere. After months of watching her give and give and give to someone else it was a relief to hold her, to hear her breath growing short, to feel her rock back and forth faster and faster as she focused only on her own gathering release.

  
“I’m so close -” She gasped as his tongue dove in and out of her, so he moved and closed his lips around her swollen pearl and sucked and swirled and her whole body shuddered in waves and he got so hard at the sound of her groan of pleasure that he half feared he would finish there, too.

  
“Perfect,” he murmured when she leaned back, over stimulated at last. “I have missed worshiping you.”

  
“I don’t want to be worshiped,” she replied as she began to shimmy away.

  
“No? You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

  
“I enjoy when you take care of me. But I’m not a goddess, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  
He took her in - rumpled hair, tired eyes, full breasts, stomach still marked from stretching, strong thighs, missing arm - and his throat grew tight.

  
“I beg to differ.”

  
“Then I beg to differ with you. You said you’re not a god, and we’re partners, so that means I’m not one either. We don't worship each other. We care for one another. Don’t set me apart from you, Solas. Let me in.”

  
And somehow, mercifully, there was time to care for each other, for her to tether him as she always did to the here and now, to the real, with the way she smelled like milk and sweat and the way she wrapped her legs tight around him when he pressed inside her (slowly, so slowly, a gentle return to something that felt like it had been lost). There was time to bury his head against her shoulder and lose himself, knowing he would be found again, to chant her name not like a prayer but like a promise when he grew heavy with desire, when he came and the world spun away.

  
“So I guess this is how it will be now,” she said when he pulled out of her. “Quick trysts while Ashara sleeps cozy in bed?”

  
“For now, I suppose,” he replied.

  
“For now?”

  
“Well, she will grow older eventually.”

  
“True. Of course, knowing our luck, we’ll have given her a sibling by then.”

  
The thought made him smile, and adjust so he could rest his head on her chest to hear her heartbeat. It made sense now, here, with her. It was time to let the shadows go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, let's all just sit here and listen to "Dear Theodosia" over and over again. It was my inspiration as I wrote those final parts :)
> 
> I am incredibly grateful to everyone who takes the time to leave kudos or a comment!
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	10. Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, work melted my brain over the last two weeks, but apparently it also rendered me capable of writing mostly fluff for once (and some smut, since there wasn't much last chapter)! I almost feel bad that this is all I have for you guys this time, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)
> 
> Also, I attempted some Elvhen translation courtesy of FenxShiral for the conversation at the beginning, but it was more difficult than I anticipated, so I shortened it!

“Mamae, tara'syl'nu'min!”

Ellana sighed and buried her face. As if that had worked in the past.

“Mamae, on dhea. Mamae!”

“In Trade, my sweet,” she said finally, keeping her eyes closed. That was their deal, after all. Solas spoke to Ashara only in Elvhen and she spoke to her only in Trade, so that she would have equal mastery of both.

“Mamae, it's raining. Why does it rain?” The question came almost as an afterthought, as if she’d come only to announce that it was raining and not to question its existence.

“If it's raining, we should stay in bed. Come here.”

She opened her eyes at the feeling of a slight weight on the bed to take in the sight of her daughter - wild dark brown curls, as kinky as her own, brown skin, eyes as solemn and blue as her father’s. Ashara regarded her mother for a moment, making sure she was really awake - so serious for so small a child, just four years old - then nestled at her side.

“Where is Papae?” Ellana asked, burying her nose in Ashara’s curls.

“He is reading. But why does it rain, Mamae?” She was getting frustrated now, squirming away, insistently patting Ellana’s cheek. Now that the question had been raised, it absolutely required an answer.

“I don't know exactly, my love,” she said. “It rains so plants can grow. Maybe Papae knows where it comes from.”

“He said to ask you.” Ah, so this was not a new question after all. And that trick wasn't working so well anymore.

“Then maybe my clever girl will figure it out for herself,” Ellana smiled, dancing her fingers over her daughter’s sides until she giggled. It was, all things considered, not a bad way to wake up.

“We leave today?” Ashara asked later, just as Ellana thought she might doze off again.

“Four more days until we go,” she replied. Ashara held up four fingers and studied them.

“And then we get there?”

“No. Val Royeaux is far, and there are no eluvians in Orlais. We are going to ride in a carriage after we leave Enasan. Do you remember what they speak in Val Royeaux?”

And on and on, curled under the covers, Ashara twisting the sheets around her as she asked and asked the questions that had plagued her since they told her about their upcoming trip. Why don't they speak Elvhen? Why don't they just speak Trade? Why don't they have eluvians? Why is it far? When will we go?

It was only when Ellana’s own stomach growled (and Ashara made an attempt to jump on the bed) that they removed themselves from the covers and went into the living room, where Solas was, in fact, reading.

“On dhea, vhenan,” he said when she approached, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“Go ask Mamae? Really? Low trick, sa’lath. I was quite cozy.”

“And I’d been awake with her for an hour,” he said, low enough for Ashara not to hear. Ellana huffed in response, but it was an affectionate exasperation.

They had hearth cakes and berries and Ashara refused to leave her stuffed nug on the floor and attempted to feed it the berries and Ellana scolded. But inside, she smiled. How easy it was, sometimes, to feel like there was nothing but this. That life was as simple as them and the rain.

*

Ashara was perfect.

And frustrating, and exhausting, and maddeningly stubborn.

And it was the greatest privilege Ellana had known to be her mother, second only to watching Solas as her father.

When she was tiny he hovered over her, like she might vanish at any instant. If she was any warmer than usual it was cause for constant concern. When she began to babble, earnestly, determined to communicate, he nodded calmly and responded as he would to anyone else. When she cut her teeth and was inconsolable, he suffered just as much.

She’d never loved him more. After all, it was the moments, Ellana realized, that she loved about being a mother.

She’d always been good at staying in the present - a useful trait in a hunter - but something about Ashara crystallized it even further. When she was still nursing and would rest her tiny hand on the curve of her mother’s breast, there was nothing else but that tiny hand and the connection between them. When she called out for Mamae there was no other sound. When Ellana woke in the middle of the night and saw moonlight falling across Solas’s still form and Ashara’s wedged between them (she was too old for the cradle, too young for her own bed) the world didn't exist except for in the shadows it draped over their faces, their twin noses.

Even better, it extended to Solas, too. He was always someone who was half elsewhere - worrying, thinking, wondering. She had her own ways of bringing him stillness, of making him live in the moment, but now she could step back and appreciate those moments. The way he would cradle a single mage light in his hand and so patiently explain to Ashara what magic was, and where it came from. How he listened to the stories she invented about her various toys and imaginary companions with rapt attention. How he could spend hours lost in thought, plagued by worries about the past or the future, only to immediately focus on her when she brought him a book to read, as if nothing had bothered him at all.

So even though the ride to Val Royeaux was long, and uncomfortable, Ellen couldn't complain. It offered an unparalleled opportunity to watch the two of them - Ashara perched on her father’s lap to see out the window, his hands steadying her, the lilt of their voices in Elvhen, the rhythm of her questions and his answers.

“Who is there?” She asked.

“Our friends. Your Uncle Dorian and Uncle Bull, and many others you have not seen since you were very small. Some you have not met at all, like Cassandra or Varric.”

“Why don't we live with them in Val Royeaux?”

“They do not all live there, da’len. They live all over Thedas.”

“And we live in Enasan.”

“Yes. Shall we count the birds again?” He kissed the crown of her head as she began to count, and Ellen smiled at them, unseen.

“Mamae, too,” Ashara said suddenly. “Mamae, the birds -”

So they counted birds until it was time to camp for the night, and Ellana’s heart sang.

Ellana had insisted that they should camp one night rather than stay in a city or town. She hoped that Ashara would someday feel as at home outdoors as she herself did, and this was as good a time as any to start. As they lay in their tent it felt like being in an aravel again, warm and safe in a loose tangle of limbs. Ashara wanted to know what every sound was, until she was too exhausted to hear more, and then they shifted her to one side of the tent, so they could lie close.

“Hello,” she said as their noses touched.

“Hello,” he replied.

“Do you think she's enjoying the trip?” She asked. He snorted in amusement, then kissed her, and it was another moment of perfect stillness, where there was nothing but his lips and his hand on her waist. A reconnection after a long day.

“Do you feel any differently about going to Val Royeaux now?” he asked when they broke apart.

There could only be so many moments where nothing else existed.

“I don't know. I’ll know when I’m there. When I hear what they ask.”

“They will ask how things in Enasan are going. You know this. And you know well why you should not tell them of our plan. Even if they agreed with us, it would place them in an awkward position if we swore them to secrecy, which would be necessary.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. It wasn't as if much had changed in the four years since Ashara’s birth. The orb remained in Ellana’s possession, and those members of the council who had to know of it, did. The Dinlaselan - or those like them - still demanded a full return to the ways of Elvhenan, though with less violence than before. But this would be the first time she stood in a room with everyone she cared about in years, and she would have to carry the secret of their plan all the while. And it was meant to be a happy occasion - an anniversary celebration of Corypheus’s defeat that Cassandra was hosting.

“It is not ideal, ma’asha. I know you have a gentle heart, one that does not wish to deceive others,” Solas said when her silence stretched on.

“It’s what bothers me about the entire plan,” she said. “It’s the right thing to do, the best possible compromise. But few will see it that way.”

He kissed her forehead and she knew there was really nothing else to be said.

“Don’t forget to count today,” he said a little while later.

“Oh - of course.” Ellana reached for her pack and fished out the tiny notebook she’d been using. “Day ten.”

He hummed when she rolled over so her back was to him, and pressed his hand to her stomach. She rested one hand on Ashara. This was her family, her little clan, and for them, she could withstand a little heartsickness at the thought of a secret.

*

“Ellana! Oh, forgive my manners. It has been so long, dear friend!”

The sun was warm on the courtyard in Val Royeaux where they found their friends waiting for them, to Josephine’s shriek of delight. Ellana had to let go of Ashara’s hand to return Josie’s embrace, which meant that there were now two tiny arms wrapped tight around the back of her leg as her daughter went to hide - her typical reaction to a stranger.

“And who is hiding back there?” Josephine asked.

“Ashara, da’vhenan, you do not have to hide,” Solas said. Ellana could feel Ashara snap to attention at the sound of her father speaking Trade, as she usually did. “This is Josephine, our friend.”

Ashara stared at Josephine, then up at Ellana, then held up her arms to her mother, which won a chuckle from the others nearby (Cassandra, Varric, Thom, Dorian, Bull, Leliana, Cullen, and Sera with Dagna in tow - Vivienne would join them for the formal celebration). They were actually here, actually with the people she missed, actually introducing their daughter - she could push aside any other feeling. Ellana crouched down and Ashara put her arms around her mother's neck so that she could hold her.

“Give her a little while and she will warm up. Josie, it is so good to see you!”

There were warm embraces all around, some gray hairs and wrinkles to comment on, and all the while Ashara hung on her mother’s neck, watching the faces that passed her, studying. She had to go to Solas when they sat to eat (they’d interrupted lunch) so that Ellana had her hand free, and she was so concerned by everything she needed to take in that she tried to start sucking her thumb again, until Solas caught her.

“No,” he said, calmly tapping on her wrist until she stopped. Then he caught hold of her hand and kissed it. It was so natural, such an everyday occurrence that Ellana thought nothing of it until the chatter at the table stilled.

“You know, of all the unlikely things I’ve seen, Chuckles with a kid has to be about the unlikeliest,” Varric said.

“On that point we may both agree, and be pleasantly surprised,” Solas said. “Ashara, you remember your book? _The Little Wolf_?” She nodded. “Varric wrote it.”

“With a quill?” Ashara asked.

“Sometimes with a pen. So what do you think? Is it any good?” Varric asked. Ashara looked at him, considering.

“Yes. Papae reads it and Mamae reads it.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I’ve got a wide audience.”

The chatter went on - there were the rebuilt Seekers to discuss, Leliana’s nugs, Thom’s many journeys, Bull’s escapades, Cullen’s work with the recovering Templars - Ashara grew restless and slipped from Solas’s grasp, and began to wander the garden, finding plants to pick. Ellana went to follow her, but Dorian patted her on the arm.

“Let me, old friend. You’ve had a long journey.”

Ashara was a little wary at first, confused that Dorian said they’d met before since she didn't remember him, but soon she was delighted by the simple magic he did for her, and when Bull ambled over she was adamant that she needed to touch his horns, and eventually she was running around and shrieking and trying to tempt anyone she could into chasing her. Soon Thom joined in, and of course Ashara had to get Papae to play, and Ellana watched all of them with her heart so full it hurt.

“She’s a delight, Ellana,” Leliana said. “You two must have another.”

“We’ll see. In case you hadn't noticed, we are all getting older.” But she still counted the tally marks in the little notebook, visualized in her mind. Today or tomorrow - that would be the day.

“Ugh - no reminders,” Cassandra said. “I stood up from my throne the other day and my back spasmed so bad I could not move. Just from standing! And the healers do not want me to practice with my sword as much as a result.”

“Besides, do you truly need to fear growing older?” Leliana’s tone was light but Ellana knew her too well to be fooled.

“Of course,” she said.

“I hear there are many in Enasan who are frustrated by that.”

“There are, true. But their frustration is just that - frustration. I doubt anything will come of it.”

“I see.”

It was a secret. Just a secret. A perfectly justified secret.

Their conversation lulled. Soon Ashara began to look tired, though she denied it, and Solas picked her up under the pretense of taking her to see a statue on the other side of the garden. By the time they reached it, she was asleep against his shoulder.

“Perhaps we might all take this opportunity to ready ourselves for dinner,” Josie said.

Ellana hung back to watch them all leave, studying the familiar gaits and voices, Solas and Ashara going last, until only Dorian was standing at her side.

“Four years. Has it really been that long since we saw each other?” Doran sighed.

“I know,” she said. “She was so small.”

“Indeed. Care for a walk and some wine? I’d like to prepare for dinner with a glass or two.”

“The best kind of preparation,” Ellana grinned.

So they went and found a bottle of wine that wouldn't be missed, and a quiet terrace in the elaborate palace, and sat watching the sun go down gossiping idly until Dorian returned again to the subject of the last time they’d seen each other.

“Four years indeed,” Dorian said. “I remember it so clearly. The fear in your voice when you asked if Bull and I could get here sooner. It was gone when we got there, though. You were standing there, big as the moon, and using your very best Inquisitor voice to demand we take you to Mythal’s altar. Our offer still stands, you know.”

Ellana remembered that moment, of course. She hadn’t told Dorian and Bull what happened when they rushed to meet her - just that Solas kept something from her, and that she needed space. They’d agreed to pretend like nothing was wrong for the duration of their stay, for her sake. But one afternoon after Ashara was born, while Solas was catching some rest, Bull spoke up.

“You know you can always call on us again, Boss. I know you don’t want to say exactly what happened. I can respect that. You two seem like you’re okay now. But if you’re ever not - you know where we are.”

She hadn’t responded with words. Just a small nod. A minute later, they’d gone back to admiring Ashara, so tiny and new, so impossibly perfect, as if the offer had never been spoken. She knew that was what Dorian was looking for now - just an acknowledgement. It was his way of checking in.

“I know. I haven’t ever felt like I would need your offer, so you know.”

He finished the last of his glass.

“I believe you. You do beam most disgustingly at the two of them whenever you think no one’s looking,” he snorted. “So then when are you two going to have another child so we have another excuse to visit?”

“We’ll try our hardest to get started on that tonight, if all goes well.”

“That - was actually not the answer I was expecting. Or looking for.”

Ellana couldn’t help but laugh. “I swear, people seem to forget where babies come from. Everyone wants to ask when you’re having another and turns exactly as pink as you do when you mention how much sex you’re having.”

“Ellana! You mean to tell me THAT’S where babies come from?”

Dinner was the same gathering as before, just their inner circle - the next day would be the party with all the dignitaries and speeches and remembrances - but this was the real celebration, as far as Ellana was concerned. They argued and reminisced and drank toasts to the fact that they’d managed to get together without the world ending. Sera even took her turn with Ashara, pronouncing her “Elfy, but too small to be annoying about it yet.” It wasn’t until she was well into her third (fourth?) glass of wine that the ache grew persistently in her chest. She wished they could all just live in Skyhold as they had before. That Ashara could know their faces as well as she knew her parents’. That they, too, could live forever, if the plan succeeded.

“You look far away,” Cassandra said. “What is troubling you?”

“Nothing, Cass. I just wish we could be together like this more often.”

“As do I, my friend.”

Then Ashara was there, a rush of strong little limbs as she clambered into Ellana’s lap, an instant, focusing presence that pulled her away from past and future alike.

“Mamae! Leliana has nugs and she said, and she said that if - when you say - and Josephine -” She tripped over her words several more times before she managed to spit out that Leliana and Josephine had offered to take her in for the night so she could help take care of the nugs in the morning, and they wanted to know if that was all right.

“Of course, love. Are you sure you will not be scared? Their room is not far from ours, if you need us.”

Ashara narrowed her eyes. “Not scared.”

The independence in her voice filled her with sadness and pride alike. Varric laughed when Ashara wriggled away again to deliver the good news.

“You know, I was beginning to think that child was all you. A little quiet and watchful at first, then friendly as all get out. But the way she narrowed her eyes at you just there? Pure Chuckles.”

Ellana watched Ashara make her way back to Leliana and Josephine, already a little force of nature in her own way. It wasn’t uncommon for people who knew them to say that Ashara seemed more like her mother, but she saw much more of Solas in their daughter than they did. She had his insatiable curiosity, his quick mind, and she felt things the way he did. Solas was a man for whom emotion ran deep and wild, something he’d learned to hide and control. When Ashara grew up, she may learn to hide her feelings the way her father did, but secretly she hoped their daughter never had to. She revelled in the times when Solas let his own mask slip. Maybe Ashara would never need a mask.

“Have you heard Ashara’s exciting news?” Solas said, drifting back to her after a conversation with Thom further down the table.

“Yes,” she replied, resting her hand on his knee after he sat. And, when she was certain no one was looking, a little higher up than that. His lips quirked at her gesture.

“Let’s help her get settled in for the night,” he said.

Ashara settled in well with Leliana and Josephine, something else that made Ellana sadder than she might have guessed. That was her own gift to their daughter, though - that independence. But once she and Solas were alone in their room, and his mouth was on hers and his hands were under her shirt and then buried in her hair, she had no room for any other thought besides how fiercely she wanted this man.

“What day is it today?” He asked when they broke apart, and he was busy undoing the buttons on her vest.

“The thirteenth. A perfect day,” she said. He smiled, and kissed her again, and slid her out of her vest and shirt and made sure her breastband followed swiftly so he could cup and knead her breasts. When he pulled away from her again her heart was already hammering. “When was the last time we had an entire night alone?”

“I don’t even want to count the months,” he said. They were standing by their bed now, her back turned towards it, and he slowly knelt down in front of her, trailing his hands (already warmed by magic) down her body. Then, inch by inch, he pulled down her trousers. He looked up at her, a glimmer in his eye, and she giggled.

“What on earth is so funny?” he asked, though he was smiling as he pressed lazy kisses to her stomach.

“We’ve never done this before. Tried to make a child. It seems different.”

Of course, they hadn’t prevented a child either, not in the last year. But this was the first time they’d actually counted off the days, watched for the signs that the time was right.

“Not so different,” he said, his words vibrating along her skin. “First I’m going to lick you until you can't stand, and then I’ll probably keep going until you fear you can't move at all. And when you’re slippery and spread open for me, I am going to grind into you until your sweet cunt makes me come. What happens after that… happens.”

She should not have already been so wet.

“Is that agreeable to you?” He asked in the same light tone as he slid down her smalls, inch by inch.

“Fenedhis, yes,” she breathed.

He leaned down and nuzzled her mound, already making her breath hitch as his nose bumped against her where she ached.

“You smell divine,” he whispered, voice low. “Even if you were not so beautiful, even if you were not my heart, I could smell you like this and want to spill myself inside you.” He was mouthing at her folds now, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that spread heat and warmth all over her and made her bud throb in longing. “Lift your leg.”

She did, and he guided it over his shoulder and held her ass with both hands, groping appreciatively. She was open to him now and even she could smell herself - muskier, sweeter, stronger than usual. Maybe the time was right. He groaned and mouthed at her again, like he really would devour her, sliding his tongue up and down her slit, pressing it against those inner lips but never parting them. She already felt tightening in her core and leaned forward, trying to get more. He pulled back, switching to light, teasing licks on her bud, just enough to send sparks, slowly building the pressure until he was rubbing, rubbing up and down, up and down, sometimes under the hood and sometimes over it. Since she was standing she could feel her slick  dripping from her as the ache inside her built.

“More,” she groaned. “Please, vhenan, more.”

He did not disappoint.

His tongue was so wet, so warm, and he was as good as his word. She was shaking, convinced she was going to fall at any moment, in the most delicious way. He worked his tongue in circles now, faster faster faster, until all the pleasure gathered there, until every stroke of his tongue was fire and she came in waves as he groaned against her and lapped her up.

She wobbled as her orgasm ended, and he guided her onto the bed. He began undressing himself, speaking as he did.

“Good, haurasha. Now I’m going to make you come on my fingers instead, open you up so that when I’m inside you I can last and last. I -” He was naked now, cock hard and flushed and beading at the top, his hand absently stroking it up and down, but he paused, and stood looking down at her. “I am so lucky.”

His eyes roved along her form - worn and battle-scarred and not as young as it was when he first saw it, but apparently still beautiful enough that his hand started moving a little faster along his length, making more moisture gather at the tip. Hunger and adoration warred in his eyes and her cunt twitched at the thought of watching him stroke himself until his balls drew up tight and he let out a choked cry and spent on her. Gods, she loved watching him come. But she flushed when she thought about why they were doing this - why now.

“Careful emma lath,” she crooned. “Don’t waste it.”

He laughed softly. “I do not intend to - but how you tempt me.”

“Lie here. I want to feel you,” Ellana said, patting the bed beside her.

“Ma nuvenin.”

He laid down beside her, covering her body partially with his, and kissed her, and gently rocked against hers so his cock rubbed against her thigh. It wasn't long before she was guiding his hand away from where it cupped her chin down to her legs. One, two fingers slid in, and then his thumb was on her pearl, rubbing and worrying and teasing, his were lips on her neck. So many sensations, and the wet sound of him working her, and her cunt was tightening, tightening, and her pearl throbbed and she pleaded - “I’m so close, just like that, you’re going to make me come” - and Solas had her, and he was going to guide her through the fall. And fall she did, cunt clenching and clenching and bearing down on his fingers as they curled, her whole body curling to meet him, and he kissed her through it, swallowing down her sounds of relief with groans of his own, and there was nothing in the world but this, them, the joy he gave her, the inexpressible happiness of feeling his skin against her own.

She was lying there, boneless, for a time before she realized he hadn't moved. He was just looking at her.

“We’re in no rush,” he said to her querying noise. “Let us enjoy our break while we can.”

He was right - it was a luxury to lie there knowing they wouldn't be interrupted. He kissed her neck and shoulders and breasts and after a time she rolled him over and kissed his cheeks and chin and then up and down his ears, nipping at the lobe and the tip until he took hold of her hips and made her rut against his cock, already so hard she half wondered if this alone would make him come.

“Still so eager, sa’lath? After all the time?” She asked.

In an instant she was on her back and his hand was buried in her hair, baring her throat, and he was kissing he there as he thrust into her hard, burying himself all the way. A hoarse cry escaped her but she was so wet that it wasn't from pain.

“Do you still think that I will ever have my fill of you, vhenan’ara? You are a well I can never drink deeply enough of.” He moved now, pulling all the way out and then thrusting in shallowly, teasing her where she was most sensitive. “Someday we will have forever, and I will take days with you. Days, ma’asha.” Every so often he thrust back in all the way and it filled her with sparks, made every stroke of his cock that followed feel even better and she had to open her legs wider, pull them back further, just to feel it all. “But until then, I will take the minutes where I can, and I will see you grow full with our child again, full and perfect - I -”

She whined and rocked her hips to meet him and felt pleasure tightening her deep inside. But he was biting his lip, slowing his thrusts down so he was just grinding against her, and she read in the strain of torso how close he was to coming and how much he wanted to hold back, and his eyes were dark. He needed stillness now and she thought around the way her cunt was fluttering long enough to guide him down to her.

“Come here, vhenan. I have you.”

He slid his arms underneath her and leaned forward and his cock was at a different angle now, and when he started fucking her again every stroke brought the root of him against her swollen nub - good good so good, it was so good, when was the last time he made her come three times? No more poetry from him now - he was reduced to just her name, interspersed with soft grunts. He rocked and rocked and fucked and both their voices rose and rose and she clawed down his back and he clung to her like he would be lost otherwise and then the cord tightening deep inside her snapped and she came again and she was full of his cock and each pulse was pulling him deeper and it was _too good_. Two more long, hard thrusts into her, a deeper angle this time, and he came too, shaking and holding her close.

“I don’t think I will ever believe my luck, no matter how many days we share,” he said, a little later, but there was no raw emotion now. Just contentment. “I watched both of you today. So happy, so at home. How could I ever wish for or deserve more?”

“It may be a little late for that,” she said, twitching her muscles around him where he was softening inside her. A little reminder. He laughed, her favorite, soft, indulgent laugh that he saved for moments like these.

“I am well aware. But I am allowed to feel humbled by the thought.”

He slipped out of her, and insisted she lie still while he went to get her water. They lay there together, and soaked in the silence. It did not take long for them to fall asleep, of course, after they put on their night clothes. Exhaustion was never far away now, and there was only more exhaustion to come, if all had gone well. But there were also more moments to come like the one late that night when the door opened and little feet ran across the floor and a little person slipped under the covers with them and burrowed into the place where she belonged, refusing to admit that she’d been scared at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for everyone who has commented and left kudos and subscribed and bookmarked! You are what keeps my poor melted brain writing :)
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	11. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iiiiii shall restrain myself from comments until the end. See you at the bottom!

 

Solas was more familiar with dreams gone sour than dreams that bore fruit. At least, in that sense, it did not surprise him when six months of careful counting and planning ticked by, and Ellana’s stomach remained flat. He was a man who expected disaster. Ellana, less so. She remained, in her heart of hearts, an optimist, even if she’d seen enough to know better. So every month she waited and hoped and then start to bleed, and for days she’d be angry and sad by turns.

“I started bleeding today,” she said one evening, not long before Ashara’s fifth birthday, her voice flat.

“I am sorry, vhenan,” he said quietly.

"Sorry? Does it not hurt you as well?" Her words had bite to them, strong enough that it took him aback.

  
"What? Of course it does. How could you think otherwise?"

  
"Because if I hadn't pointed it out it would have just ended there. ‘I’m sorry,’ you’d say, and then you’d go back to whatever it was you were doing before I came in." She began restlessly reorganizing papers on her desk.

  
"You know that isn't true," he said, rising, moving towards her, wondering how exactly he could convey the deep melancholy that settled into his bones every time another month when by and also the sense of resignation. Of course they were asking for too much, when they asked for this.

  
"It's just as well,” she said when he was standing directly behind her. “It isn't your body that's failing us."

  
That was it, then.

  
"Maybe - maybe it's just too late. Maybe I'm too old."

  
His throat closed a little at the thought. She was late into her third decade of life now, and though they had begun to weaken the Veil, progress moved so slowly that there was almost no change now. So slowly that it would be many years until there were any noticeable effects. If it was too late now - it was just too late.

  
"Vhenan -"

  
She raised her hand.

  
"I'm going to bed." She got all the way to the door before she turned. "It isn't you, ma'len. I'm not really angry at you."

  
That night, he found her dreaming about the Emerald Graves, watching Ashara as she ran from tree to tree (not the real Ashara - she was elsewhere, dreaming of cakes that spoke to her in foreign tongues, trying furiously to talk to them).

“I thought you never liked the Emerald Graves,” he said.

“I didn’t,” she replied. “Those rifts were always the worst. My arm would ache for hours. But the woods were beautiful. I’d like her to see them someday.”

  
"I am sure she would enjoy that, too.”

They walked a while, watching her. The spirit that had taken her form did a remarkable job imitating her mannerisms (the way she cocked her head at a sign she could not read, the way she swung her arms when she walked), bringing a smile to both their faces.

“Would you like to see what she dreams of?" He asked after a time. Ellana nodded. When they found Ashara, she was no longer dreaming of talking cakes, but of their house suffused with late afternoon sunlight, of books scattered open all around her. She was reading them, each and every one.

“She dreams of being able to read at last,” Ellana said. “Gods, she is so much your child.”

“And yours,” he replied, putting his arm around her waist. “Do you remember how hard you worked, when you first joined the Inquisition? How carefully you’d sound out each word? How many hours you spent in our library? It’s all I can think of when I watch her as she learns.”

She hummed in agreement and relaxed against him. An angry buzz had attended her spirit, like bees were trapped under her skin. It dissipated now, as they watched her turn the pages, her dimpled chin pillowed in her hand.

“This is enough,” Ellana said, a moment later. “She is more than enough.”

“Yes,” he said, tightening his hand on her waist. “This is.”

Grief sat like a stone in their chests for a while, but, slowly, it lightened, and Solas allowed Ashara to notice their presence, and together they sat and read tales of heroism and love. The dream of another child slipped away from them slowly, quietly, in the months that followed. It was not a dream unfulfilled so much as unfinished - a little loose end, a little ache they felt whenever they saw Ashara grow another inch, heard her lose the childish lisp in her voice, saw her come into her magic (shocked and thrilled and determined to try it on everything, absolutely everything - Ellana had to enforce a ‘no magic at the table’ rule) and knew they would never again watch a new life unfold, unique and yet also filled with pieces of them. But every time it happened, he could feel the words thrumming in his chest. Ashara was more than enough, more than either of them ever thought they would have. All was well.

*

It had been so, so long since Solas had truly walked with someone else in a dream that he doubted it when it happened.

He’d never been certain that Ashara would share his gift, even though she already had a great natural talent for magic, until one night when she was ten years old. He was consulting with a spirit on an issue that had arisen recently over strained relations with the Wardens (they wanted their own conscription treaty with Enasan, but the terms were not to his liking) when he heard her voice.

“Who is this, Papae?”

He pivoted to face her, tall enough now that she reached his waist. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see where you were,” she said, furrowing her brow, as if it was a stupid question. Then she turned to the spirit. “Who are you?”

“I am Wisdom. What is it you seek here, da’len?”

He cut the dream off there, imagined them back in the forest he’d dreamt up for Ellana all those years ago, the place he often brought Ashara’s sleeping spirit when she was small. Ashara registered the change in their surroundings with a single glance, then huffed.

“Why did you take us away? I wanted to meet your friend.”

“Da’asha, how did you know where I was? How did you find me?”

“I knew your spirit. You’re brighter than the other things. So is Mamae, but not as bright. Can we go back to your friend now?”

Solas tried to suppress his excitement, but it was like a rising wind around them. “Why don’t you take us somewhere, instead? Do you think you can?”

“Can we go find Mamae?”

“Of course.”

Ashara cast her eyes around their surroundings, but the forest was empty. Then she stood still, like she was listening for a far off sound, and he felt the Fade shift around them, the feeling deep in the pit of his stomach of being pulled along, so different from the feeling of doing the pulling. She could do this. She shared his gift, his greatest gift, the one he’d most hoped to pass on to her.

Ellana was dreaming of the market, evidently, as that’s where they found her. Ashara ran to her immediately, eager to know what was in the basket cradled in the crook of her mother’s arm. Ellana looked down, smiling the smile that they shared, the same way they shared the shape of their eyes (wider and rounder than his own) and the shape of their ears (long and narrow). Ashara would be taller, though. She already reached past her mother’s waist.

“I’m glad I’m dreaming,” Ellana said when Solas joined them. “I was beginning to think this really was an absurd price for flour.”

“Ashara brought us here,” he said, and waited for the impact of his words to sink in.

“Oh.” It was a disbelieving sound. He let her turn it over in her mind as they both watched Ashara wandering the market, just as she did in waking, never out of their sight but pushing that limit a little further each day.

“We’ll talk about what it means for her when I wake,” Ellana said. “I want to remember what you say.”

*

For the most part, what it meant was more training.

Ashara attended school with other young mages around her age, at Ellana’s insistence (“It will be fine. You helped them design the curriculum - it won’t be good for her to sit at home all day with us”), but no one could offer the guidance that he could in regards to walking the Fade. So most days, before bed, he and Ashara would sit on the floor of her room and he would pass on all he knew.

“Be wary of what you see in the Fade,” he would tell her. “It does not present a single truth, but multiple truths. Seek to find as many as you can.”

Then together they dreamt of what he saw at Ostagar, the many faces Loghain wore, depending on the memory.

“All spirits will tempt you. This you already know. You must be quick to identify a spirit’s nature, so you understand how to interact with it, just as you must with people in waking,” he would tell her.

Then together they wandered the Fade and met people of all kinds, and she guessed what kind of spirit they were.

“Do not enter another’s dream without their permission, unless they are in danger. Many people dream of things they would not dare to say or do in waking, of memories they would never share with another living soul. Dreams are sacred, da’len,” he said.

And there was the night that despair demons were attracted to Ellana as she dreamt of Haven, of Corypheus dangling her like a doll, and once again she was trapped beneath the ice and snow, but this time there was no way out, and her lungs were collapsing fast, and she was going to die and let them down, all of them and -

He got to her only moments after Ashara, and together they willed the Fade to show her something else, and in the morning Ashara crawled into bed with them and hugged her mother close.

“You were so brave, Mamae,” she said. “How did you know to be so brave?”

“I didn’t feel brave at the time. I was terrified. I just did what I had to,” Ellana replied.

Ashara absorbed those words, considered them carefully. Then slipped out of bed and ran off in search of something to do.

Ellana worried that she did not have as much to teach Ashara, sometimes. They took her to the woods when they could, and Ellana showed her how to find animals, how to locate a stream, which plants were edible, which direction was north, but these lessons never stuck with her quite as well as Solas’s explanation of how to make the flames she conjured burn hotter, brighter, more efficient.

“It’s fine. She’ll probably never need to know how to live in the wilderness,” Ellana said, a note of sadness in her voice.

That was why Solas drew her close that morning, after the nightmare, and kissed her forehead and reminded her: “You have so much to give her too, vhenan. So many stories you can share.”

She smiled bright at him, and went to join their daughter.

Now that Ashara was older, they were able to travel with her more as their duties took them from place to place, in Enasan and beyond. Together they saw many things, ancient and new. Ashara was particularly excited the year she turned eleven, and they went to Halamshiral. Solas promised her that together they would find memories of the Dales before the Exalted March, and see the grandeur of the parties their people once enjoyed there. Ashara loved parties, and when they found such a memory she was eager to join the spirits in their reenactment. Solas allowed himself to be caught up in it as well, the intrigue and the merriment -

“Papae, why are they doing that? Is that a dance?” Ashara asked.

\- which was how he missed that one of the couples had left the dance floor and found an alcove nearby, where the man hiked up the woman's skirt and undid his own breeches and was now grinding against her in an unmistakable rhythm that had the woman tossing back her head and biting her lip. He turned Ashara away, quickly, only to regret the action. It spoke of shame.

  
"It is the sort of thing one does not look on uninvited, in the Fade or in waking. They are expressing how they feel for one another." He saw immediately in her eyes that it would not be enough. He was more uncertain discussing it than he ever imagined he would be, though both he and Ellana knew this day was coming. "You recall when your Aunt Josephine was pregnant, and you asked how she became so? How I told you that when a man and a woman wish to have a child, the man gives her something that helps make the child?" Ashara nodded intently, ready as always to take apart his words and study them in her mind. "That is how he gives it to her."

  
"Like _that_?" She whipped back around but there was no more to see than before.

  
"Ashara." His warning tone was enough this time, and she turned back. "Yes, although there are other ways." Why did he feel flushed? "Perhaps this is something we can discuss when we wake. With Mamae." Who was always so frank in matters like this, who was baffled at the idea of needing to teach a child what sex was, since her own introduction had been through the lack of privacy in Dalish camps (“I’m pretty sure I saw two people going at it one day, and one of the adults just said ‘oh, they’re just having sex. That’s how we make babies. Eat more of your stew,'” she told him).

  
"I guess,” Ashara said. “It doesn't seem like a good way to give anyone anything. Don't you usually use your hands?"

  
He opened his mouth. Then thought better of it.

  
"Another time, da'len."

  
They continued the conversation the next day, with Ellana this time - Ellana who laughed at him until her sides were sore when he woke and told her what had happened, Ellana who took Ashara aside that day and calmly explained it, in as much detail as Ashara was ready for, carefully gauging her reactions, Ellana who chuckled at how Ashara stared intently off into space at intervals, clearly still puzzled at the whole thing, Ellana who got on top of him that night and slid him inside her and swiveled slowly until he was so hard he couldn't take it and took hold of her hips and slammed her down onto him, Ellana who came so hard when he thumbed her swollen nub that she keened, Ellana who was, as always, better than any dream.

There were other things Ashara needed to learn, too, as she grew older. Other things that took time and delicacy to explain.

  
Ashara first registered that her parents were famous when she was still fairly young, only seven, and they went to Val Royeaux for another celebration of Corypheus's defeat. Ellana gave a speech, and when she was done, Ashara tugged on his sleeve and asked:

  
"Why does everyone want to listen to Mamae talk?"

  
"Once, she helped all these people. She helped all people everywhere. She stopped someone very bad," he told her.

  
"When she lost her arm?"

  
"Yes, more or less. There is more to the story."

  
Ordinarily she might have demanded the rest, but there were more cheers, and the band was beginning to play, and there were cakes nearby, and that was entirely too much excitement to ignore.

  
"Oh," she said, already taking a step away. "Will you tell me all of it later?"

  
"Someday," he said.

  
Little details came out in the years that followed. She knew who Corypheus was. She knew that Enasan was formed in the wake of a war between the human nations, led largely by Inquisitor Lavellan ("But Mamae, how many people EXACTLY had to listen to you?") and the forces of Fen'Harel. She knew that this was her father, of course. They did not wish to lie to her. Especially since, like all children, she became more interested in the story of how her parents met when she got older, and it was an inescapable part of their story. Mamae fell out of a hole in the sky, a mark on her hand that would one day consume her arm, a mark that came from Papae's magic. But he did not tell her this at first, because he was afraid. Then he worried more about the other elves than Mamae, and he left to try and help them, and it was only after they fought against one another that Mamae convinced him he was wrong.

  
"And then you came here and had me!" She would finish triumphantly. How simple it seemed, when expressed in her voice, which was no longer quite the voice of a child. She was twelve now, tall and slender like a reed, and at certain angles her face looked so grown up it made his chest hurt.

  
She knew about the Elvhen, of course, knew that her father was one of them and that he'd been involved in yet another war ("Why did you fight so much, Papae?") during the days of Elvhenan before taking a long sleep.

  
But there was still more to share, he knew. The full extent of what he'd done. The full extent of what he'd attempted to do. They knew they needed to tell her. Spent nights wondering exactly how.

  
"Maybe you can find something in a dream that will prompt it," Ellana suggested.

  
"Perhaps," he replied.

  
But the dream found Ashara.

  
Or she found it.

  
He woke one morning, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, kissed Ellana on the cheek (she dug herself deeper into the blankets, frowned) and went into the living room to begin his day, only to see Ashara standing there, her face streaked with tears, her fists clenched at her sides. She was already dressed, down to her foot wraps.

  
"How could you?" She demanded. And before he could respond, she was off, the door slamming shut behind her.

Fenedhis.

He ran back to the bedroom, began getting dressed.

  
"What on earth was that?" Ellana, behind him, bleary-eyed.

  
"Ashara - she was standing here upset, said 'how could you?' Then she bolted."

  
"What could you have done? Or -" Fear crept over her face. "I was dreaming last night. About when we met in the Crossroads. When you told me who you were. Except you were more cruel than in real life, and -"

  
He swore again, tied his foot wraps as quickly as he could.

  
"Maybe I should -" Ellana began.

  
"Stay here, in case she returns."

  
Solas reached out for the hum of Ashara’s magic once he was on the streets, a familiar brush amongst all the unfamiliar ones, as unique as her voice or her gait. It did not take him long to find her then, at a crossroads looking left and right, huffing angrily, her back to him. She wasn't allowed this far away from home by herself, and doubtless she did not know where to go now.

  
"Ashara," he began. She whipped around at the sound of his voice.

  
"No!" She said, and turned to run again, but he pulled up a barrier of energy before her, easy as breathing. His mana was buzzing through him, alight with his fear.

  
"You will not take another step away from me. You can be angry, but you will not put yourself in danger as a result. You cannot go running around the city in a rage. Think for a moment, da'len!"

  
A miscalculation. Ashara hated being called da'len now. She threw all of her energy into a dispel but it was weak, too weak to even affect his barrier, a skill she'd only just begun studying in full. Her shoulders slumped.

  
"Come back home, and let us talk."

  
"No," she said. "I won't go back. We can walk."

  
They'd been told before that they indulged her strong will too much, that any child so insolent should be summarily carried home and punished. But standing there in the early morning light, her arms crossed, her dark curly hair askew, her blue eyes narrowed, he saw it once again - she was a child no longer. And she looked like no one so much as her mother in that moment. Furious and hurt and yet, unaccountably, willing to listen.

  
So they walked along a quiet lane, shaded by trees, and for a while she said nothing. When the words came, they came in a rush.

  
"How could you do that to Mamae? Leave her there like that? She was hurt. You hurt her. And you told her she never meant anything. That no one meant anything. You - you really would have done it. Killed everyone. It wasn't just about 'worrying about the elves' or ‘trying to help our people.’ You - you were a bad man."

  
She was bewildered. It was a possibility she'd never even considered. That her father was a bad man. That, more than anything else that morning, was what broke his heart.

  
"I was a struggling man," he said. "I did not seek to do harm. I clung harder to principles than people. It did make me bad, in the end. But not so bad I couldn't still turn around and see the light."

  
"And Mamae? You didn't care about her? That's what you said."

  
"Stop and think about what you know of the Fade. How do you know what you saw was the truth?"

  
She looked down at her feet.

  
"I don't."

“Should you have been in Mamae’s dream at all?”

She kicked a rock.

“I thought I was helping. The dream was too strong for me to change. That’s why I thought it had to be real.”

(Cole visited them once, and watched Ashara and said - “She’s like me - she wants to help everyone, take their hurt and crumple it up and throw it away. She’s bright like you, but not sad. She is whole.”)

  
"I spoke to Mamae before I went after you,” Solas said. “She says that the dream you saw was a - harsher version of what actually happened. In reality, that was the day that I affirmed to her how much I did love her, how much it hurt me to leave her. I thought I was doing the right thing."

  
She kicked another rock, harder this time.

  
"You shouldn't have done it," she said. "You should have just realized it then. I would have made you realize it."

  
"Can I tell you something, Ashara? Something important?"

  
She nodded and fixed her eyes on him. They were a different color than Ellana’s, but she had her mother's way of piercing you with her stare, her absolute and total focus.

  
"You must be careful as a Dreamer. The Fade seems to bow to your whims. Not only must you be careful of how you interpret what you see, but you must be equally cautious that you do not expect the waking world to behave the same way. You cannot will the world to be the way you want, will people what you want them to be. You cannot even will yourself to be what you want to be, some days. It took me some time to learn that. I pray only that you learn it sooner than I did."

  
She looked away then, and they kept walking in silence, until they reached the library, the site of so many trips they'd taken together.

  
"I just wish you had never been bad," she said forlornly, and she leaned against him. She was tall enough that it was all too easy to put his arm around her narrow shoulders, and young enough still that she wanted it there.

  
"As do I," he said.

*

Something about being a father made time slip through his fingers, Solas realized when Ashara was fifteen, and they took her to Halamshiral and men asked her to dance with them. Time moved the way it did in Elvhenan now. A week slipped by in a blink. A year could not have lasted longer than an hour, he was sure. They were endlessly busy, embroiled in a dozen different issues at home and abroad, still working out how to continue weakening the Veil. But he watched her on the dance floor in a blue dress that swirled with her every practiced movement and all he could really think was _when did she get so tall_?

“Are you prepared for offers of marriage printed on ornate Orlesian stationary?” Ellana asked, sliding her hand into his.

“We’ll burn anything Orlesian that arrives in our house until the start of the next age,” he said.

“That can’t be Ashara out there. I refuse to believe it,” Thom said, joining them at the railing. “How old is she now?”

“Fifteen,” Ellana said ruefully.

“Shit. We really are old.” He said it as if his entirely gray beard and hair did not give it away.

“And getting older every day,” Leliana replied. “Except you, of course, Solas.”

“I was just thinking that the other day,” Ellana said. “I’m older now than you said you were when you joined the Inquisition. I’m older than you actually were, Rainier. I can’t believe you still had the energy to fight alongside us. If a war started right now, I think I’d just lie down and take a nap until it was over.”

He tightened his hand on hers. She returned the pressure. The others did not know why she was so tired. He half-wondered if she would say something then, but instead she and Thom teased each other about gray hairs and old scars.

“It has been twenty-one years since the Conclave,” Leliana said. “Twenty-one years since we all met. So much has changed. And you still have not made an honest woman out of our dear Inquisitor, Solas.”

“Are you calling me dishonest, Leliana?” Ellana laughed.

“Merely drawing attention to a glaring oversight on your part. These parties are too rare. We must have another excuse to meet, before we are all too decrepit to do so.”

“Flawless logic, as ever. What have you to say for yourself, vhenan?” She asked. Her eyes shone in the light, and the champagne they were drinking thrummed in his veins, and he could hear Ashara’s laugh cutting through the murmurs of strangers. Underneath it all there was a dull ache but he could push it all away.

“Perhaps I do not wish either of us to become complacent. Perhaps I think we should not swear a single vow, but should continue to earn each other’s love every day.”

“Did you just open up to us about love?” Thom snorted. “There’s another miracle for the books.”

“That’s really his biggest secret,” Ellana said. “Under that grim exterior, under all the Dread Wolf nonsense, he’s as sentimental as they come.”

“Enough wine for you, sa’lath. You can’t go spilling all my secrets,” he said, and she grinned and pressed against him, and though there were fine wrinkles at the edges of her eyes now, and the occasional strand of gray hair at her temples, she laughed like a girl in love.

Ashara would dance until the sun came up if they let her, and under Leliana’s watchful eyes, they agreed to. Ellana still retired before he did. When he followed, he did his best not to wake her as he undressed, but when he slid under their covers, he found her half-naked beneath them, and though her eyes were still half-closed, she pressed close to him, covering his collarbones with kisses that were both lazy and hungry, trailing her nails down his stomach until his muscles jumped.

“What precisely are you doing?” He asked, though his blood was already singing, his cock already rising.

“Making sure you don’t think I’m getting complacent,” she said, and dipped far enough to trace a nipple with her tongue. She looked back him. “Alright?” He nodded, and she slid down.

He was soft enough still that she could fit all of him in her mouth and then cradle his sack in her hand, and he hissed and gripped the sheets at the feeling of being so held, so complete. It wasn’t long before he was stiffening further, getting big enough that she had to draw back and catch her breath and work him with her hand for a moment. Long, slow strokes, and then just her fingertips dancing along his shaft, teasing him and making his hips buck as he sought more. He hissed when she drew away completely.

“What’s that?” She asked coyly, pushing the sheet off of her so he could look down at the sight of her between his spread legs.

“I want you,” he said.

“Where?”

He read the glint in her eye and knew the mood she was in, knew she would not mind when he threaded his hands into her hair and pushed her down on him, made her take him into her mouth down to the root. She hummed and it filled up his whole body, made his balls get tight, and she let him guide her, let him hold her still and thrust up into her. But he read her restless shifting, too, and let her pull away when she was ready.

“Move,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Sit at the edge of the bed.”

“Who am I to disobey?”

“Please, Fen’Harel,” she said as she sank to the floor before him. “Rebellion is your thing.”

It was a marvel the way her tongue worked him, the way it swirled around the soft swollen head of his cock and made him raw with desire, the way she could say that name without making him flinch now, the way she still groaned at the sound of his pleasure, at the taste of his desire pearling out of him. He was getting close, guiding her to bob more quickly, when she got her hand around the base of him and pressed.

“Remember - no complacency,” she said when she drew away from him and pressed teasing kisses along his shaft, across his thighs. “You’ll have to work for it.”

“As will you, later.”

“Counting on it.”

She brought him to the brink once more, sucking and caressing and pressing into that place behind his sack that made his vision go white, then drew away, and drew him down to kiss her, and she tasted like wine and sex and he never wanted to stop tasting that on her lips (so why was the dull pain back, in the back of his mind, pushing through the haze? Not now. Later). This time she did not tease. This time she closed her mouth around the tip of him and sucked and she was the only thing holding him to this earth, and she rubbed him faster and harder until he crashed over the brink and spilled and spilled and spilled.

He wasn’t sure how long it was until he came back to himself, but she was still there, kneeling between his legs, her forehead against his thigh. He stroked her hair, then let his hand drop to her shoulder - and instantly felt how rigid her muscles were.

“Vhenan -”

He slid to the floor alongside her, pulled up the loose shirt she was wearing as quickly as he could, and pressed his hand to the place on her back, no larger than his palm, where her skin was split by green, crackling light.

“Not now,” he said, a growl and a prayer all at once, and forced his magic against it, until at last it subsided, and she went limp against him.

“Solas,” she said a short while later. “You’re holding me too tightly.”

Impossible. He wasn’t holding her tight enough.

“To bed, emma lath,” she said, when that didn’t work.

“Let me hold you,” he said. “Please.”

She managed to free her arm from where it was trapped between them, and returned his embrace.

“It’s fine,” she said. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

Two years ago it was a slit, so small they both doubted it was even there (two years, two years they'd lived with this creeping fear). Then it grew longer. Wider. It flared at her, the way the Anchor used to. Left her feeling tired and weak. This time there was no Anchor he could remove. No promise he could make, except the one he already had - he could try and buy her time.

“Ar lath ma,” she said. “To bed.”

He helped her into the bed and hovered over her, like he could protect her with his body alone. Kissed her neck and her wrists so hard he was sure it would mark, like the magic was a poison he could draw from a wound with his lips alone. He got to her belly before she drew him back so that he could lie on top of her and she could press him close. Some time later, between her lips on his ears and her warmth beneath him, he was hard again, and she angled her hips so he could press inside her (she was not as wet as usual, she hissed, and he stopped, and she told him to keep going). Slowly, slowly, slowly he joined her, and held her there, and then they rocked together until her hand was no longer caressing his back but clawing down it.

“Harder,” she commanded, and he obeyed, rebel no more but her servant, the man who would give her anything he could for as long as he could. He came again with a shout, startled at how well she drained him a second time, how good it felt to pour into her while she whispered in his ear (“Good, yes, come for me ma haurasha, just like that”), how it could make him forget that she was dying.

“You didn’t come,” he said when he pulled out of her, trailing a hand down her stomach.

“I know,” she replied, catching the hand. “Tomorrow, maybe. No complacency, remember?”

Tomorrow.

He slept in her arms, and dreamed of a thousand more tomorrows in which his magic did not bleed out of her every pore, burning her alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorryyyyyyyyyyyyy for the angst. I've had it planned all along. I am terrible.
> 
> So, I actually wrote two different versions of this chapter, because I agonized over whether or not they would have a second child. I ultimately decided against it because I kept feeling like their second child was just sort of - there - and Ashara was the one carrying everything. I felt that in order to introduce another character and do them justice, I was going to have to focus on all kinds of other things that weren't as interesting as what I was writing about with Ashara. I have since posted that alternate version [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9921326/chapters/22464908) along with a small AU that follows how this fic and its sequel play out differently.
> 
> Up next: a newly added chapter from Ellana's POV. As always, the comments and kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions give me life. I can't believe you are all still reading this weird, rambling mess of a fic!
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	12. Traditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In-between working on the sequel to this fic and dabbling in Mass Effect: Andromeda fics, I had this idea that wouldn't let go of me. I sat down to write from Ellana's POV in the sequel and realized it had been 15 years in her life since I had written from her perspective, and I needed to really reflect on her initial reactions to her likely death in order to get into her head later on. I also felt like, in retrospect, the reveal at the end of the last chapter was a bit abrupt and that the transition to the epilogue suffered as a result. Hence, this chapter, which I hope fixes both issues (and provides some much needed fluff and humor!). It does have some brief explicit content.

“I never courted you.”

Solas said it when Ellana’s back was turned, when his eyes were undoubtedly tracing and retracing the lines of green energy he’d just measured.

“What?” she asked, trying to think around the steady ache between her shoulder blades, the fire worming deeper into her skin every day. His hand was on her back now, as if he’d read her mind, and slowly his magic pressed into her until she was numbed.

“I was merely thinking about what you said earlier. Your proposal.”

She smiled at the thought. It was filled with morning sunshine, and the bone deep exhaustion that accompanied every morning now no matter how long she slept, and the coffee Solas always had waiting for her even though he hated it. She’d rolled over to see him awake, already leafing through the notes he kept on his research, on the progress of her - illness? Curse? The thing that had hovered, spoken and unspoken, between them every day for the last four years, when he finally looked her in the eye and said _it isn’t going away_. And seeing him, and hearing the sound of their daughter nearby, shuffling through the kitchen in search of a sweet, the words had just tumbled out.

“We should be Bonded.”

He’d blinked those lovely blue eyes.

“Say again?”

“Bonded. Married. Joined together forever. Isn’t it - you know - time?”

That wasn't what she meant. What she meant was that there wasn't enough time.

Solas opened his mouth. Closed it. Then spoke.

“Let me check your back.”

And now he was done with that, and the words still hung in the air.

“What does courting have to do with that?” she asked, rising from the bed.

“It made me think. I never courted you.”

“What do you mean, courted?”

“When we met - when we fell in love - I did not go about it properly. I pushed you away. I lied to you. I left you. Then when we reconciled - I never made up for that lost time. I never did what I should have. I never did it right.”

“Solas -” she couldn't help but laugh as she put on the robe she wore over her nightgown, more stiffly than she would have liked. “It was just an idle thought. Don’t let it upset you so.”

“It hasn’t upset me,” he said. He was silent while she splashed water on her face, preparing to go out to the living room. Then he walked over to her, and turned her to face him. “Let me court you. Let me do it properly. Then we can speak of more.”

Ellana wanted to laugh again. They were standing in the home they’d shared for nearly twenty years, in a country they’d helped forge, with an seventeen-year-old daughter mere steps away. They’d bled together and loved together so long it was hard to imagine life without him. What could courtship - which she could only assume meant fancy words and gifts and special outings - possibly add to that? But she took in the meticulous stack of papers on the desk. The books scattered around the house. The calculations. The look in his eyes.

“Very well,” she said, and kissed him softly and chastely, and left their room.

“Where’s Papae?” Ashara asked when Ellana approached the table. She made a furtive attempt to cover up the cake she’d pilfered while waiting for them to wake up, and Ellana chose to pretend that it worked.

“Still taking notes, I think.”

“The measurements this morning weren’t good.” It was a statement, not a question. The measurements were rarely good. Not anymore. Ashara always strove for a clinical calm when she spoke of them, but Ellana saw the worry in her eyes. She squeezed Ashara’s hand in reply, then set about finding her something better for breakfast.

They didn’t speak of courtship for several days after that, not until one afternoon when Ellana was on their couch with Ashara, engaged in a particularly good game of Diamondback. Solas emerged from their study and stood politely by her side, waiting, until she threw down her hand in annoyance at her daughter’s second win.

“What are you teaching this child? To cheat?” she asked then, looking up at him, expecting him to laugh or at least smile. Instead he looked serious, his hands clasped formally behind his back.

“I wanted to ask you to accompany me for a walk this evening, if you have the time.”

She was so startled by the request that she just blinked at him for a moment.

“Sure,” she said. “After dinner?”

“Wonderful. Until then.” As he walked away, he trailed a hand across her shoulders, and she felt the unmistakable tingle of his magic in its wake.

“That was strange,” Ashara said.

“Yes,” she replied, trying to puzzle out why he would have asked so formally, and why now, and why he didn’t want Ashara to come along. He hadn’t even really acknowledged his daughter. It wasn’t unlike him to touch her casually in the course of their day, or even to reach out to her with magic, but combining all three of those things was certainly odd.

He didn’t mention anything about it for the rest of the day. Once their dinner was done, he stood waiting formally at her side again.

“I wanted to take a moment to get ready. Do you wish to wait for me outside or here?”

“Outside. It’s a nice night.”

“Very well,” he said with an incline of his head. Ashara gawked at him as he walked away.

“Why is he being so strange?” she asked.

That was when the thought clicked.

“Oh,” Ellana said suddenly. “I think - I’ll tell you later if I’m right.”

“Now you’re both being strange.”

“What does that say about you, da’vhenan, if you have two strange parents?”

It was in fact a beautiful night. The canopy of trees filtered the dying light and the breeze as it passed through them was her favorite kind of music. She closed her eyes and listened to it and already the pain her back subsided a little. She’d probably need Solas to numb it again soon. She hoped it did not interfere with whatever his plans were for the evening. If this was the start of some courtship, she had no idea what to expect.

When Solas did emerge from the house, he had changed his attire from the simple clothes he wore around their home to some of his nicer ones, more similar to what he wore to official functions. His deep blue tunic was beautifully embroidered, as were his footwraps. She didn’t recognize either, and said as much.

“They are new. I thought they might please you.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, unable to repress a giggle, as they began to walk.

“Is this what I think it is?” She asked.

“That depends entirely on what you think it is.”

She adopted her best coquettish Orlesian smile (which was, admittedly, not very good).

“My dear Solas - are you courting me?”

“That depends entirely on whether or not you will allow me to.”

“And if I say no?”

“We continue our lives exactly as we have been.”

“You mean we continue - oh, how does Leliana always put it? ‘Living in sin?’”

“If that is what you wish, then yes.”

She was beginning to enjoy this game. She knew what she would say at the end of it, but she wanted it to go on a little longer.

“And what would more courtship entail?”

Solas was quiet about that for a moment as they continued to walk. When he spoke it was with a familiar measured cadence - the quiet rhythm that always overtook his words when he spoke of the things he missed about Elvhenan.

“If we had only just met, this would be how I would have begun. A simple outing, an excuse to touch you, somewhere public where others would see. I would already be planning gifts to give you, enchantments that I knew would please you, enchantments that would take time and skill to perfect. Perhaps we’d go on a few outings like this until I felt certain enough to ask you if you wanted us to court. Perhaps you would ask first, or begin creating gifts of your own.”

“And then?”

“We would spend days together, locked away from the world, joining in every way it is possible for two people to join. We would craft gifts for one another to wear, try to impress one another will our magical skill, or write songs or poetry to show our other talents. Eventually our families would become involved, of course. We might undertake some project together to prove how well we can work towards a common goal.”

Ellana could feel the pain building as he spoke, slowly and steadily. She could still ignore it, though, for the sake of the words still tumbling out of his mouth.

“We would go away to places old and new together, both to share favored memories and to create new ones. We may even make a home together, just as you and I have already, because to promise forever was no simple thing. It would take years and years, because we would have all that time.”

Though she saw Solas every day, slept and woke at his side, and heard his voice every day complaining about a chair that creaked or teaching Ashara or asking her if she was ready for lunch or not, there was something different about the way he looked and spoke now. She couldn’t put her finger on it exactly. There was a softness, and that formality - like they were strangers, but he didn’t want them to be. It made her heart flutter.

“That sounds lovely,” she said.

“It will be,” he said, confidently, like they did have all those years.

Her back twinged, but she forced the feeling away as best she could. They lapsed into silence for a little while, continuing down the quiet street, until Ellana spoke again.

“I still have one question, though.”

“And what is that?”

“On the first outing, a night like tonight - would you have kissed me?” She asked.

He stopped walking and turned to her then, stood close but without letting their bodies touch, and ran a finger down the curve of her jaw.

“I would have wanted to,” he said. “Just as I wanted to so many days in Haven, in the Hinterlands, in the forsaken Fallow Mire.”

He leaned down so his forehead rested lightly on hers. Ellana took a slow, steadying breath, pushing away the gathering pain, trying to focus only on him - on his soft, full lips, the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the dimple in his chin.

“But I think, in the end, I would have made both of us wait, just for the sweetness of the anticipation -”

She couldn’t take it anymore.

It felt like being knifed between the shoulders, over and over, except the knife was hot, and beneath her skin, and it was a hundred knives all at once.

She must have cried out, started to fall. Her mind was still buzzing with pain when the magic faded, replaced by the familiar cool of healing. It wouldn’t last, of course. It never did. It used to be days until she needed him to cast the spell again. Now it was hours.

“Is that better? Ellana?”

“Yes,” she managed as the world swam back into view. The Solas she knew was back in place. No soft, faraway look. He was focused, worried, tense - the partner she knew and loved and needed in that moment. Yet as she leaned against him, she regretted breaking that spell. That make believe world where they’d only just met, where they had a whole courtship before them and not - _this._ Her broken body and numbered days.

“We should go back,” he said. “You need to rest.”

She nodded, too tired now to disagree. They walked back with his arm around her shoulder, more supportive than affectionate, and spoke little, except to remind one another that soon they would need to go to the market for more fresh fruit, that there were letters that needed writing, invitations to accept or decline. It wasn’t until they stood before their house, about to go back inside to the life she knew and loved, that Ellana hesitated and pulled him back.

“I want to court you,” she said. “I want you to court me.”

Solas smiled. He wound one arm slowly around her waist, and the other around her back, and leaned down towards her.

“Good,” he said, and kissed her, slowly and softly, his lips moving against hers like a river against a shore.

*

So they courted.

Life went on in all the ways it had to, of course, with its thousand minutia. Ashara was in her final year of schooling and busy preparing for her practical and theoretical examinations, focused mainly on her research into how to remove or nullify the magic burning further and further into her mother’s flesh.

“I wish you’d choose something else. Something that truly interests you,” Ellana said when Ashara announced the project.

“This does truly interest me,” she said, indignantly, in reply.

When she wasn’t reminding Ashara that she did, in fact, still need to eat and occasionally go somewhere besides the library or the Fade, Ellana still had her own responsibilities to attend to. Diplomatic functions to organize, deals to negotiate, ruffled feathers to soothe. It never ended. Except, of course, that it would, as her progressively shorter hours reminded her and everyone around them.

“We’ll need to begin preparations for a successor soon. If I can find a lull and step down, that will be better than dropping someone else into whatever mess I’m sorting through at the time,” she told Solas one day. He looked at her, unblinking, in response. That evening, when he returned from his own work, he had a gift for her: a poem, comparing her work to a towering oak, deeply-rooted, a monument to ages. Of course, it was in Elvhen, and she showed it to Ashara to be sure she’d understood it right, which led to a fit of laughter and Solas turning a delightful shade of pink when he found out the reason his daughter was currently on the floor.

“I was never very good at poetry,” he muttered.

So that was how it went. Folded into every mundane day, there were little moments. A note left for her on her nightstand. Flowers from the forest, enchanted so they would not wilt for days. A surprise day away in that forest, a quiet clearing where they could lie in the sun and twine around each other like vines, kissing lazily. A meal shared between just the two of them in the middle of the week.

“You know, I do not know much about traditional Dalish courtship,” he said one day. “Is this what a man in your clan would have done?”

“It would be much more practical,” she said. “Less jewels, more pelts.”

Which was how it happened that he and Ashara went away for a day or two, ostensibly because of some experiment they wanted to try outside of the city, and returned with a fine august ram pelt - fine, until they attempted to cut it off the creature. But she smiled when she traced every ragged edge.

“I mean, it _was_ an experiment,” Ashara said with a sheepish shrug. “We didn’t quite realize until we caught it that neither of us was very good at skinning it.”

She made sure to get Solas a new grip for his day-to-day staff, sturdy and simple and elegant all at once, and wished only that she still had both hands, so she could make it herself.

When they shared these moments, they always shared them as if it was the first time - they did not speak of Ashara, or the Inquisition, or the curse burning inside her. For a few moments a day, they were Ellana and Solas, but in a different world.

There was also the thing with his magic. He was always reaching out to her, caressing her with it, blanketing her with it. To Ellana it simply felt like a ghostly touch, one that tingled and made her shiver. Other mages sensed something else in it, though, Ashara included.

"What are you _doing_?" She finally asked one evening at dinner.  
  
"I am expressing affection for your mother," Solas said lightly. "Does it bother you?"  
  
"Well - no - but - it's distracting."

"Perhaps that's the point. I want everyone to be aware of exactly how much I love her."

Ellana felt heat rise to her cheeks, a reaction Ashara mirrored, though much more visibly, thanks to her lighter skin.

"Okay - I've got more work to do, so I'll just go..."

There were only a couple of months until Ashara would present her findings on the nature of the Veil, and on the nature of what exactly it was doing to her mother. She spent hours daily now with her books and notes and practical experiments. It worried Ellana. So far, nothing Solas or Ashara had found promised a solution. What would they do, when they finally had to give up? When they finally had to face the truth?

"The magic isn't just meant to be a public display, or a comforting gesture," Solas said, taking her hand where it rested on the table and drawing her back to the present. "If done over a long enough period of time, and if reciprocated, eventually the auras of both mages are changed. They each resemble the other. It is an unmistakable sign to anyone who knows them of their intentions."

At that another wave of his magic washed over her and all her hairs stood on end. She wanted to be able to lean into it, to return the gesture - she wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep already because she was, as always, so stiff and tired and in pain. No - that did not exist here and now.

"And what intentions would those be, ser?" She asked coyly.

Solas stood from his chair and walked over to her, took her face in both his hands, and kissed her - a slow, heated, hungry kiss.

"You'll know soon enough," he whispered. "Why ruin the anticipation?"

He kissed her like that again that night, but not on the mouth.

"Lie back and spread your legs," he said when they got to their room, voice low in her ear. Then he slipped his tongue between her thighs and made it dance until she begged, and begged, and begged again, until he let her fall, until his name was one long cry torn from her lips, and then he let her fall again, and she was shaking, shaking -

Shaking too much.

"Vhenan," she managed weakly. "I - it hurts."

And all at once the lover was gone, and he was a healer soothing her with magic, but this time even that didn't work. It still burned, stabbed, twisted inside her. He had to go out into the study and get a potion to kill the pain, to let her sleep.

"I'm sorry," she said, as it took effect, as he slid into bed beside her, naked and unsated.

"Don't be," he said, and held her.

  
*

  
Ellana couldn't keep going. That much was clear.

She couldn't keep smiling politely at deceitful nobles or reasoning with angry farmers or considering and reconsidering the same course of action a hundred times. She couldn't even leave the house some days, let alone go on long diplomatic trips. Even the stone walls of the city seemed to claw at her, make her breath grow short. She wanted trees, sky, wind - she wanted to stop being surrounded by so many people, so many demands -

Some days, she just wanted all of it to stop. For good.

But then Ashara would bound into the room, sharing a story about her latest triumph in school or an outing she'd gone on with a friend. Then Solas would bring her hearthcakes and dandelion wine like what she'd grown up with. Then Dorian would call or Cass would write or Leliana would drop by. And she would take a deep breath and go on.

She managed the balance most days. Not wanting to die, but accepting that it was coming. She'd lived a longer, happier life than she ever thought she would, and she'd lived a life where death was a constant possibility. All that was left to decide now was how she would live out the time she had left, even if Solas and Ashara didn't see it that way - even if they still spent nearly every waking hour trying to figure out how to reverse it, or stop it, or slow it down. They'd gotten Dorian in on it, too, and apparently even his own apprentice, Claudia, was helping.

Then it was time for Ashara's final tests, and she passed, of course, and it was the first sign that she was really not a child anymore. She could pursue a specialization, find work, leave home - and it was standing there at the ceremony, thinking of all of this, that she first felt the pit began to swallow her.

_I am going to die._

_I will not see what she does with her life._

They had plans afterward the ceremony - a trip into the countryside, another opportunity to pretend they were living another life. She could push this feeling away until that was done.

Except that she couldn't.

Except that she found herself on the verge of tears listening to Ashara humming a song on the way there.

Except that Solas brought her flowers on the first day they were there and she couldn't stand the sight of them, so bright and full of life.

Except she watched the colorful birds in flight around the cabin they stayed in and remembered the first time she saw them, on the way to the Temple of Mythal, and realized she no longer knew what would happen to her after she died.

Except she wanted, so suddenly and so urgently, to keep living.

On the second night of their trip, she felt well enough to go for a walk with Solas. He took her to a glade not far from the cabin, with stormheart glistening in the banks and arbor blessing draped on every tree.

"What are we doing here?" She asked him.

"I want to watch the stars with you," he said.

So they laid down and counted them, and took hold of each other's fingers to trace shapes.

"Let me tell you a story my mother once told about that one," Solas said.

And in each one word he spoke, Ellana felt the weight of their twenty years together, the weight of the twenty years they would not have - and it became unbearable.

"Solas -" she broke in.

"What is it?" He asked, rolling towards her.

"I don't want to die."

It was the first time she'd said the words.

It was the first time she'd cried only for herself.

But, slowly, surrounded by the scent of fresh earth and crushed grass and _him,_ she came back to herself. She took a deep breath, prepared to apologize for ruining their outing, when he whispered the words.

"Ane falon’saota," he said, softly, and then again in Trade. “Be my wife.”

She knew, somehow that this wasn’t when he meant to ask. Not with her face streaked with tears from the very thing they tried to shut out with this courtship business. She was sure there was some elaborate plan, some ritual, maybe more poetry. But they were never very good with tradition.

“Yes,” she said softly. “ _Yes._ ”

Solas smiled, wider than she'd seen him smile in months, and held her close.

 When they got home, he showed her the silverite rings he'd had made, he wanted to enchant with Veilfire to preserve memories of each other. They were simple bands, especially considering some of the gifts she'd been given over the years, but she already longed to wear hers every day, like a lovesick young woman all over again.

"You know, there's one tradition we didn't discuss," she said, turning the ring this way and that way in the light.

"What tradition is that?" He asked, sliding his hands around her waist.

"That a betrothed couple shouldn't share a bed."

He chuckled and withdrew. "Yet you say we won't be married for a year. How will you survive?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I am perfectly capable of restraining myself."

"Whatever you say, vhenan. I know I'd be fine. You know how I delight in anticipation."

As he walked away a single tendril of magic ran down the length of her spine, and Ellana shivered from head to toe, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, complete with one final "Hamilton" quote snuck in for good measure!

As long as Ashara could remember, Mamae and Papae just fit together.

It was everything about them. Mamae who had wild kinky red curls, Papae whose head was smooth as glass. Mamae who spoke Elvhen in stops and starts and switched to Trade if the conversation was too complicated, and Papae whose Elvhen flowed like water. Mamae whose laughter sang like birdsong, and Papae who chuckled low in his throat. Mamae who could not wield a single spell, who rolled her eyes when they argued over the best way to set a glyph, and Papae who could do almost anything with a flash of blue in his eyes. Mamae who could name every animal in the forest from sound alone, and Papae who knew all the spirits. Mamae who was a child of this world, who had friends in every country, and Papae who spoke of the world that was.

Mamae who was dying, and Papae who was not.

It was an impossible thought. A thought she wished she could unthink forever. But it was true.

They first showed her the mark on Mamae’s back when she was sixteen. It had grown enough by then that there was no hiding it. She pressed her hand to it and felt the magic within - ancient, angry, trapped, it vibrated the same way Papae’s magic did, but it was not friendly. She hadn’t said anything at first. That was when Mamae took her hand and squeezed it. _Da’lath’in_ , they often called her when she was small, little heart. She was someone who felt things deeply. But this - this she refused to feel.

“So, what do we do?” Ashara asked then, calmly, her eyes locked with Papae’s. He looked away. It was never good when he looked away.

“I do not think there is anything we can do,” he said. “This magic should have killed your mother the instant she touched my orb. It would have killed her long ago if I had not removed the Anchor. It is the raw power that formed the Veil itself, meant to be tapped into sparingly, meant to be contained by an object, and not by a person. Yet it is part of her now. Even if I were to try and draw it out of her - I fear it would still mean death.”

“So when will it kill her?” She asked. She was good at questions. Questions were good. Questions meant answers. Even the scary ones.

“I cannot say exactly. We have measured its growth over the last year, and its progress is still slow. But it causes her more and more pain.”

“I am here you know,” Mamae said, her voice sharp like when Ashara stole sweets from the kitchen.

“So then we have time,” Ashara pressed on. “We can figure something else out. This is all we will focus on.”

“It is all I have focused on for some years.” A challenge - she was good at rising to Papae’s challenges.

“Yes. But you didn’t have me.”

That won her a smile, one of those tiny smiles that were so common with her father. “That is true.”

Later, there were too many questions. Later, she began to imagine their house without Mamae. Birthdays without Mamae. Bringing home friends, and no Mamae to greet them, no Mamae to insist “please, call me Ellana.” No Mamae to insist “No practical demonstrations at the dinner table!” when she and Papae debated the magical theories she learned in school. They’d probably burn down the house without Mamae.

Without Mamae.

She tried to cry alone in the dark, reasoning that she was too old to go to her parents’ room, but the tears wouldn’t stop. So she went to their room on shaky legs, and opened the door, and saw them, one lump under the covers. The bed would be so empty without her. Papae would be so lonely.

“Ashara?” Mamae said, sensing her presence hovering over the bed. “What is it?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

Unthinkable words. Words she couldn’t stop thinking. Mamae held her close, kissed her forehead, like she was a little child again. Who would she go to when she needed to just be a child, if Mamae was gone?

“I know, my sweet one. I know.”

That was three years ago, in a different house, their house in the city. Now when Ashara closed her book with an annoyed huff (no answers after all - a wasted night she could have spent walking the Fade) and opened the window she was greeted with cold mountain air. She looked out at sunrise over the formidable peaks of the Frostback Mountains, not at the delicate wood and metal buildings so common in Enasan. Skyhold was a lovely place, if a little remote for her tastes. But it was where Mamae wanted to go when she retired from public life at last, and so they went. It still belonged nominally to the mostly-defunct Inquisition and thus the Chantry, but Divine Victoria insisted there was no issue with them staying there. Mamae still claimed that she retired because she’d finally had it with politics (“I _will_ throw something at someone soon, I swear”) but Ashara had seen the mark on her back, how it had spiderweb veins spreading from it now. She’d seen the green of the Fade in Mamae’s eyes when her body went rigid with pain.

“Ashara? Are you awake?”

Speaking of Divine Victoria - that was Aunt Cassandra's voice. It must be time then. She felt a thrill of excitement in her chest as she dressed.

“Just a minute!”

Aunt Cassandra always looked better outside of her formal robes, Ashara felt. Even in her advanced age, she still carried herself like a warrior, and it showed when she dressed simply. Ashara had never known her very well - Divine Victoria hardly got to go gallivanting about the world - but she liked her nonetheless.

“On dhea,” Ashara said. “Are the others awake?”

“Most of them. Your mother wanted me to bring you to her room. Josephine is insisting that the ladies and gentlemen prepare separately today, to uphold tradition.”

“And she succeeded? I’m not surprised Mamae went along with it, but Papae...”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, your mother is quite good at getting what she wants from him. None of us would be standing here otherwise.”

It was the truth. Ashara would never forget the first time she saw her father melt in her mother’s gaze. She was fourteen, newly aware of love, of glances and what they meant. Her mother wanted to go camping for a week to celebrate her birthday, and her father was resisting, insisting he had too much on his plate.

“Come, vhenan,” she said, and smiled at him, her eyes soft and warm. “Take a break.”

And Papae, who never gave in on anything, smiled. “Very well.”

It made Ashara happy. Her parents loved each other. Really loved each other, like in stories. Apparently there were bards that sang songs about them, but that was a little too much for her taste, so she didn’t seek them out. But she liked it when her father rested his hand on the small of her back, when her mother kissed him on the cheek before he left the house, when they called each other _vhenan_.

And now, at long last, they were going to get married.

“I keep forgetting you aren’t already married,” she said when they told her a year ago, although it did explain the way Papae had been acting for months. He kept bringing her mother small trinkets, flowers he found in the woods, kept reaching out to her with his magic at odd moments, like it was a cloak he could drape around her. He was courting her, the way he described courtship in the days of Elvhenan.

“We wanted to make sure it was really going to stick,” her mother said. “We figure twenty years is long enough.”

Ashara knew the real reason. They wanted to see all their friends. All her aunts and uncles who’d come in and out of her life like passing spirits in the Fade (except Uncle Dorian, who still called all the time, so much larger than life even over the crystal that he always seemed to be standing in the room with them). And they couldn’t send an invitation that said “Ellana is dying, and we want to see you one last time.” So they sent a wedding invitation instead.

They all knew that, too. Ashara caught Uncle Varric looking at Mamae, thinner than she had been in years, and shaking his head and saying ‘shit.’ Aunt Josephine hugged all of them too hard. Uncle Cullen kept holding open doors for Mamae, even when she scowled and insisted she was fine.

Mamae’s room was up an unnecessary amount of stairs, high in the keep. She was sitting on a couch by the stairs when Ashara and Cassandra arrived, laughing along with the others.

“Ah! Here’s the wayward daughter,” Aunt Josephine said. “Come, Vivienne sent us the very best barbers in Val Royeaux to help with hair and cosmetics. You simply must have yours done.”

Of course Vivienne had not come. Ashara had only ever met her at official functions, where she’d been polite but distant. She couldn’t say she regretted her absence. Instead she bent to her mother’s side and kissed her cheek.

“I hope Cassandra didn’t wake you,” her mother said. “I told them you could sleep as late as you wanted. You’ve been staying up so late.”

“I was already awake reading about the Minrathous Circle. Uncle Dorian and the others there have done some truly interesting investigations of the Fade and magic linked to it,” she said.

Mamae’s face darkened for just a moment. Ashara knew she shouldn’t have mentioned it, today of all days, but it was still burning in her heart. She was going to find a way to fix this. She only needed to make them understand that she was right about what she needed to do next.

They passed the morning in a cloud of perfume and laughter. None of the women was particularly used to this sort of treatment - they joked about the number of times and ways they’d all been covered in mud and blood in their lives, with the exception of Aunt Josephine - but they seemed to enjoy themselves nonetheless. Ashara let them coif her hair into a rough sort of bun and thread ribbons through it, let them rouge her face and line her eyes, until she grew restless and decided she’d had enough, particularly since they weren’t letting her see Mamae, who was behind a dressing screen.

“I’m going to go see what the others are doing,” she said, padding down the stairs.

The men were in the rotunda, she determined quickly. She paused at the base of it, surveyed Papae’s murals again. Though they had their own in their house in Enasan, she liked these ones best. The story they told was her favorite, the one she’d grown up on. Her mother’s story. The story that would not end with her murdered by the very power she’d used to save the world. She was sure of it.

She followed the rumble of their voices upstairs to the former rookery, and saw them seated around a card table, engrossed in a game of Wicked Grace. It was Uncle Dorian who looked up and saw her approach.

“Sweet Maker! Turn around and scrub that off your face, Ashara. Surely you aren’t old enough to be so lovely.”

The others turned then - Varric, Thom, Cullen, Bull, Cole, and, of course, Papae - and momentarily the talk was stilled.

“Hah,” she said. “Very amusing, uncle. Can I play?”

She was no good at Wicked Grace - she had never mastered the trick of hiding what she was thinking, but perhaps Cole would give her some helpful hints about the other participants' states of mind - but it seemed as good a way as any to pass the time. And, more importantly, to continue convincing them of her plan.

“We’ll deal you in next round,” Bull promised.

“And perhaps less lewd talk, now that a lady is present,” Cullen suggested.

“Whatever you say, Curly.” Varric took a swig from his cup.

She sat next to her father, who had not spoken yet. He was wearing his usual tunic and leggings - and an expression on his face that she could not quite read. Concerned? Pained? But there was something softer there, too.

“How is your mother?” He asked. “I still can’t believe she’s going along with these customs. They are neither Dalish nor Elvhen. I would rather we spent this day together.”

“I think she’s enjoying the mystery,” Ashara said. “She wouldn’t even let me see her once the barbers started in on her hair and cosmetics.”

“That is fair. Though what mystery there can be at this point, I am not sure. I rather enjoy not having any mysteries left between us.”

“You would be a sourpuss on your wedding day, Solas,” Bull said. Papae rolled his eyes.

They dealt her in when the next round started, and, as slowly as she could, Ashara guided the conversation to her goal, asking each of them what they’d been doing recently, and ending with Dorian.

“Uncle Dorian, I am surprised your apprentice is not with us. Is she very busy back in the Minrathous Circle?”

“Yes, quite. Someone had to be left behind to look after my interests, and she was extremely capable. I still say you must come and visit sometime. You two would get along splendidly, I think.”

“I’d love to. I am sure there is much I could learn in Tevinter.”

Papae played his card, a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Well, you know you will always have a place to stay.”

It was her turn now. She played her card.

“I’ll have to take you up on that. The mountain passes are fairly clear now.”

Papae was staring at her now. She was not being subtle, and she knew it. She knew she shouldn’t upset him, not today. But before Mamae disappeared behind the screen, she’d taken off her tunic, and Ashara had seen the green glowing gash on her back, the ugly reminder that nothing was improving, that it was not time for subtlety anymore.

When they finished the game, she excused herself, knowing he would follow. She waited beside his mural of Haven for him to reach her.

“Ashara, you know how I feel about your plan. Now is not the time for you to leave. Your mother -”

“Is not getting any better. We have learned all we can from books and from dreaming in the same places over and over again.”

“The magic that affects her is Elvhen. I highly doubt that you could find anything in the annals of the Imperium that Dorian has not already searched for a hundred times.”

“He has his own affairs, his own concerns, and he is not a Dreamer - perhaps I can uncover something merely by exploring the Fade there that he cannot.”

“And how long would that take? The Imperium is far, and what if your mother…”

He let the words (spoken in hushed Elvhen, of course - no need for the others to hear them fight) hang in the stillness of the rotunda, liked he feared to speak them.

“You know nothing would stop me from returning as fast as I could, if -” But she could not say it either.

“You should be here at her side,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “I should find a way to save her, so we don’t have to hover at her side. Waiting.”

His face softened then, and he reached up, unbidden, to touch her cheek.

“I was about to remind you that you are just a child, that you cannot go out into the world alone, and then I looked at you, and -”

She took his hand and pressed it between her own. “I would not be alone. I would be with Uncle Dorian and Uncle Bull.”

“That does not reassure me.” They were dry words, though, not serious ones. “Can we speak of this later?”

“Of course, Papae.”

She was floating the rest of the way back to the tower where the women waited. He was going to say yes. He was going to let her go. She was going to find a way to fix this. Papae was always looking backwards for answers, but she would look forward - she would get to see Tevinter and the countries that bordered it, taste the salt of the Waking Sea - and Mamae would be saved. Mamae who was done getting ready now, clad in a long samite gown of elven style, simple but lovely, her hair pulled up and threaded with ribbon like Ashara’s, Mamae who was smiling as she hadn’t in months.

They did not follow Aunt Josephine’s traditions entirely. Papae should have met them in the garden, where the ceremony took place. Instead, when it was time, there was a soft knock at the door, and they all stood and waited until Mamae called out:

“Andaran atishan.”

Her father came up the last flight of stairs then, and stood before her, in his own samite robes, wonder in his eyes. He bowed, and then offered his hand to her.

“Would you walk with me?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, and it was the first vow.

They went together to the garden, which still bloomed with prophet’s laurel and dawn lotus and felandaris, the great-great-great-great grandchildren of the plants they brought back with them during their journeys. No one was present but their friends - they would allow the other guests in for the reception. They stood by the altar and Cassandra joined them, dressed not as Divine but as their friend, and though she invoked the Maker’s blessing, she spent more time talking about them. The first time she knew they were in love. The way they protected each other in battle and outside of it. How they found their way back to each other, showed grace and forgiveness and kindness throughout their many years together. How they had raised a daughter anyone could be proud of. That was the only time they looked away from each other, so they could glance at her and smile, and she was warm from her toes to the crown of her head.

“You have already weathered more together in two decades than most people face in whole lifetimes. I know that your dedication to one another will see you through - whatever comes.”

Was Aunt Cass crying?

Then again, so was Aunt Josephine as she leaned on Uncle Thom for support (their son had stayed behind in Antiva to take care of the estate). Then again, when she heard them speak the ancient words - promising to share their hearth, their bed, their hearts, their lives - her eyes pricked too. Then Papae took Mamae’s face in both his hands and leaned down and kissed her, and everything was how it should be.

They feasted in the hall, and that was when they allowed the others who’d gathered at the news of the wedding into the keep. Well-wishers, old comrades, Inquisition soldiers, pilgrims - they all came in to share their thanks and their blessing. Mamae and Papae grinned, and did not leave each other’s sides, and Ashara got to hear a dozen stories she had not heard before about them, and soon there was dancing, and she lost track of them for a time in the roar and the joyous crowd. It was only when night fell, and she stepped out of the keep for fresh air that Mamae came and found her again.

“Did you have fun?” She asked.

“Of course. Is it everything you dreamed, being married now?”

“Naturally. So far, it is exactly the same as before, and I would not have wanted anything else. Shall we sit?”

They sat on the steps and looked up at the stars, and Mamae began to name the constellations she could see, until at last she sighed and looked at Ashara instead.

“I just don’t know what I’ll do, da’vhenan.”

Ice balled up in Ashara’s stomach, made her skin tingle. “What do you mean?”

“What I’ll do without you when you go.”

When. Not if. When.

“I won’t leave if you don’t want me to,” she said.

“Nonsense. You shouldn’t have to live your life by mine. You’re nineteen years old - you’ve been home long enough. For all we know, I have years to go. There’s a whole world out there. I want you to experience all of it. I wouldn’t have chosen your name otherwise.”

Ashara. A woman of many journeys. She would have many journeys. But they would all end here. Home. With them.

“I will fix this, Mamae,” she said. “I will.”

Mamae smoothed a hand over her hair. It was slipping out of its confinement now, sticking out at odd angles.

“Promise me one thing, Ashara. Promise me that you’ll forgive yourself if you don’t.”

“I will.” The promise floated easily out of her lips, because of course she would fix it, of course there was no need to fear.

She left two days later with Dorian and Bull, and her parents waited at the entrance to the castle to watch them go. Ashara made sure she twisted around in her saddle to see them standing there. Mamae and Papae - one, two, day, night, moon, sun, easy as breathing. They fit together, the two of them. They always would. She would see to it.

Ashara raised one hand, and they returned the gesture, and she watched until they were out of sight, then turned her face towards the morning sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the ending makes up for the angst of the last chapter, even if everything isn't resolved! I couldn't leave you guys hanging like that for long.
> 
> I can't believe this is done now. I pushed myself a lot with this fic to try things I don't normally try, which meant I was essentially terrified every time I clicked the "post" button, and while some things were more successful in my mind than others, I am continually blown away by the kind support of all you readers who have commented and left kudos and bookmarked and subscribed. You made the terror worthwhile!
> 
> For anyone who's curious about what's next: I overcame my fear of writing something plot and OC heavy, and ["Awakened"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10080125/chapters/22465256) was born! It is a character-driven coming of age story that follows Ashara's journey to save her mother.
> 
> Prompts, suggestions, comments and general discussion more than welcome here or on my [Tumblr](https://buttsonthebeach.tumblr.com/)!


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